Daughter of Mine?
by Thamwet
Summary: Romana bore the Doctor's child. Who says? None other than the child herself, all grown up, and living as a baroness in the year 1500. Znya is eccentric, kindly and has zero dress sense - her father's daughter all over. Discovering her injects some real happiness back into the Doctor's life, and Rose wants to be pleased for him...but she suspects Znya is not who she claims to be...
1. Us

**_The Fourth Doctor_**

Sleep? Ha! Sleep was for tortoises! He was a busy man, the Doctor, far too busy for nonsense such as sleeping! He seldom bothered.

But after a few drinks, why, a little snooze was a good thing, a very good thing indeed. And he _had_ partaken in a few drinks the night before, so he thought probably he could forgive himself a few hours shuteye.

Of course...when I say a _few_ drinks, I mean a fair few. Quite a lot, to be perfectly frank. Well, I say quite a lot, I actually mean a heck of a lot. He had an uneasy relationship with his drink, did the Fourth Doctor. He was a far cry from his predecessor, who liked his fine wines and his rich, strong brandies, all washed down with a delicate platter of cheese and biscuits. When number four drank, alas, he _really_ drank. It was ever thus that he tended to avoid drinking at all, for fear of embarrassing himself too often, or wearing out his fourth liver well before it's time. He was somewhat attached to this body, with his wild curls and his great height, his relative youth too. He saw no need to ruin himself.

But yesterday, dear Romana had insisted they go to an _olde english_ mead festival, and the results were horrific. One horn of mead became four, which became eight soon enough, which fast became twelve. Romana wasn't innocent either, as best as he remembered. She'd been the life and soul of the party, dancing merrily with the BO ridden peasants of centuries past. The stench of the tent had, indeed, been quite horrific. The Doc liked visiting the past well enough, but the smell of the folks from back then was pretty awful.

They'd taken their leave in the small hours, and...

And what, indeed? They'd made it back to the Tardis, somehow, though he couldn't quite recall how they'd done it. He vaguely remembered carrying Romana through the doors, staggering into the blinding white light of the console room, and then...well, that was all.

He pressed a hand to his throbbing sore head, and stretched out in the bed he so rarely used. He'd get up soon, but a little more sleep wouldn't go amiss. Just another hour or so. He sniffed and rolled over to his side, colliding with something that was neither mattress, nor pillow, nor even duvet.

He opened his round blue eyes, which swelled to magnificent proportions when he saw what - and who - was in bed next to him.

"No..." he whispered, his booming voice soft in the cavernous white bedroom. "Surely not..."

Romana.

She opened her eyes and groaned in pain, her brown eyes coming to meet his blue. Her mahogany hair was askew, and her robe open to the waist.

"No..." she gasped, staring at the Doctor with horror. "No, we didn't..."

"We can't have..." the Doctor gaped.

She bit her lip. "Doctor..."

"Yes?"

"I think we did."

* * *

"So we're in agreement," he said later that day, hunched over the console, still red in the face, "it should never have happened?"

"Full agreement." Romana replied, her posh clipped voice dripping with embarrassment. She was wearing her best white robe, her hair flowing and her bare feet leaving moisture prints against the cold, snow white floor of the Tardis. Her ten toes were literally curling.

"I...don't know what came over me." the Doctor lied, trying to pretend (as he always did) that he felt no attraction towards the young Time Lady, who was almost too beautiful to be real, too perfect to actually exist.

"I do." she scoffed. "It begins with M, it ends with D, and you drank one heck of a lot of it last night."

"Yes," the Doctor said airily, "let's not pretend you didn't."

She shrugged. "True."

"But what _happened,_ Romana?" the Doctor insisted, "how did we end up...do you remember? Because I don't."

"Bits and pieces," Romana admitted, "you carried me in, and we ended up drinking some of that Bordeaux you've had lying around."

"My previous regeneration loved that stuff," he replied, "but I don't much like it these days."

"Be that as it may, you had four glasses of it last night." Romana laughed. "And we started telling jokes. I was hysterical, you were hysterical, and...well, one thing led to another."

"Who made the move first?" he wasn't sure he wanted to know, and regretted asking immediately.

Romana frowned. "You, you idiot! Do you _really_ not remember anything of it?"

"Not a jot." the Doctor replied. "My twelve meads and, as it transpires, four wines attests to that."

"Hmm." Romana trailed off and examined her fingernails. Was it his imagination, or did she look - just slightly - crestfallen? Disappointed? Hurt, even? Yes. Yes, he rather thought that she did. Which meant...if his not remembering instilled such emotion in her, it meant that she didn't regret it as much as she claimed. Perhaps, even, she didn't regret it at all.

Good. Because whatever he'd said, the Doctor didn't regret it a single bit. Not one.

"Romana, I..." he began, "I...um...well, won't you have a jelly baby?" he extracted the crumpled bag from his pocket, only to discover it as empty as sin. "Oh dear..." he moaned. "I'm out of jelly babies."

"You were handing them out last night," she told him, "the peasants couldn't get enough of them."

"Well, quite." the Doctor sighed. "But look...what I meant to say was..." It was hopeless. For the first time in his fourth life, he was well and truly lost for words. How could he confess his true feelings to her? To little Romana, with her superior brain, and her _full_ Gallifreyan biology, and her ravishing beauty? How could he, an impure half-human, tell her that he really rather loved her? He wasn't at all worthy of her, not a bit, and he felt sure that she'd laugh if he told her. He thought, just possibly, the heartbreak of it might kill him.

Romana shuffled her dainty bare feet awkwardly. "Go on." she muttered.

"I mean...I hope this won't change anything between us? If you want to go home, then I'd understand, but..."

At this, she padded over to him and did something rather lovely - standing on tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his pale cheek, and drew away softly.

"I love travelling with you." she told him. "I could have gone home after we'd found the last key, and I didn't. I _chose_ not to, Doctor. We were drunk last night. It happened. It shouldn't of happened, but it did. I think we should forget about it. How does that sound?"

He smiled. "And carry on as normal?"

"And carry on as normal." she agreed.

He broke into one of his massive, toothy grins and nodded. "Well then! I need some new jellybabies. A trip to Blackpool? 1970's, perhaps?"

"Sounds perfect." she beamed.

* * *

Never again did the Doctor sleep with that version of Romana. But after her fateful accident and subsequent regeneration, they became a little more than friends. Almost partners, he supposed. Partners in crime. And whilst they never again did mention that night, the Doctor knew that he'd never forget about it.

Almost never...

By the time his ninth life (or tenth, if you'll be pedantic) came around, Romana herself was but a faint memory, a shadow from the past which he deliberately obscured as best he could. It hurt too much to remember her. It hurt too much to remember any of them. That first night they spent together was a passing dream, a happy time turned sour by the war which saw Romana - and the rest of the Time Lords along with her - burned to dust. At his hand.

He might never have thought about it again, were it not for the awful thing which happened shortly after Captain Jack joined him and Rose...


	2. The Frozen Sea

**_The Ninth Doctor_**

"Fantastic!" he beamed, as the impossible spectacle presented itself in front of them.

"Is it?" Rose said uncertainly.

"Yeah, Doctor..." Jack interjected. "Surely this ain't too good a thing? Are we safe?"

"Probably not, mate." the Doctor replied happily, pointing his screwdriver at the sea, which had just that moment frozen solid in the single blink of an eye. The waves were thick blocks of ice, rising from a bed of the same, stretching all the way out to the horizon, where stormy grey sky met sparkling white ice, winking at them from afar.

"But what happened?" Rose insisted, staring dumbly at the ice, zipping her jacket up against the sharp cold which had fallen over the normally tepid planet. It had gotten dark.

"It's the sun." the Doctor said thoughtfully, hopping from one foot to the other, trying to bully some warmth into his extremities. "And ya know what, Jack?"

"Uh?"

"Your right, it's not safe." he broke into a nervous laugh, his breath billowing out as steam. "We should get outta here now. Before we freeze."

They clambered back down the hill, the blades of grass turning frosty, crunching beneath their feet. Their canoe was moored at the beach, but there was no question of them sailing back to the Tardis, which was located on another small island, just a half mile away. Instead, the Doctor and Jack carried it back, whilst Rose took the paddles. The Doctor happily watched her awestruck smile as they _walked_ across the sea, beneath enormous high waves which cast midnight shadows over the three of them. He was ever the optimist, the Ninth Doctor, and prayed that the weather wouldn't turn warm again suddenly, and melt the ice as quickly as it'd formed.

A rare thing it was, but his luck actually held out on this occasion. It was minus fifteen Celsius by the time they staggered back into the Tardis, teeth chattering and skin sore. The Doctor could tell the temperature with a simple flick of his tongue.

"Right." he said, suddenly businesslike, "gimme a minute." he shook some ice from the leather of his jacket, and powered up the scanner with numb fingers. _"Come on!"_ he insisted, thumping it lightly to coax some power into the lifeless monitor. It flickered into life, and revealed a dire warning. The Doctor bit his nail.

"Problem?" Jack loomed over his shoulder.

"Could say that." the Doctor straightened up. "It's winter!"

"One heck of a winter." Jack drawled.

"Ain't it just," the Doctor agreed, "and actually a normal phenomenon in this part o' the galaxy. This planet's sun fluctuates wildly in temperature, unlike that of Earth. Seasons come and go randomly, and immediately too. Just moments ago, the sun's heat dimmed right down, and so winter begins. It might not end for a thousand years."

"A thousand year winter?" Rose exclaimed. "Will _anything_ survive?"

"The cockroaches will." the Doctor said darkly. "Horrible little gits can survive 'most anything. But everything else? Nah. Not likely."

"Shouldn't we do something about it?" she pressed.

The Doctor shook his head. "Not a chance. It's the natural way of things here. It ain't pleasant, but it is what it is. It isn't our duty, nor anyone's, to interfere with the natural course o' things. Remember that. Now, to be frank, I'm all for hoofing it before the weather turns any colder."

"Sure." Jack said through chattering teeth. "I need a good coffee, warm myself up. Youse?"

"Thanks." Rose said, "I'll h-help you make it."

"Cheers guys. Just milk." the Doctor said brightly, switching off the scanner and releasing the handbrake.

And they were all thrown off their feet, as the Tardis lurched into action with greater speed and ferocity than it could ever muster on a normal day.

"What's happening?" Rose shrieked, clutching the legs of the console room seats as the whole place shook violently.

"Flamin' eck!" the Doctor barked, clinging onto the console for dear life and turning the scanner back on. "We've been harpooned!"

"Harpooned?"

"Yeah! Look at the readings! Summink's got us, guys! Takin' us _right_ off course, so it is!"

"Taking us_...where?"_ Jack screamed, as the motion smashed him up and down on the harsh metal grille floor of the console room.

"Uhm..." the Doctor looked at the readings, but didn't believe. "Well that's flamin' impossible, to start with."

"What? What?"

"The flamin' 1500's! Someone in the year 1500 'as got technology capable of drawing my Tardis off course! That ain't right."

"I'll say." Rose managed a grin, despite the harsh motion of the Tardis. "Trouble, then?"

The Doctor met her gaze, and smiled. "Yeah."

They laughed. _"Fantastic!"_ they said together.


	3. Znya

**_Callows Reach, 1500_**

Cold.

That was the first thing he noticed, stepping out of the Tardis with Rose and Jack following in his wake. They were in a large grey dining hall, in what he supposed must be a particularly large castle. He smacked his lips as he caught sight of the feast laid bare on the long table, the smell of roasted meat thick and rich upon the chilly air. It was snowing a real blizzard outside, fat flakes hitting the rattling windowpane, and a wicked icy breeze slithering along the flagstone floor.

"Hello, Doctor."

He stared. The oddest woman he'd ever seen was walking towards him, her crimson high heels clipping the flagstones and echoing around the chamber. The red of her shoes was matched by her repulsive frilly dress, with ludicrous great frills coating her neck, wrists and knees; her scarlett knickerbockers fell far short of her ankles.

If her clothes were bizarre, they paled into normality when compared with her face. Her skin was ashen white, on account of the copious amount of powder she'd applied, with blood-red lipstick decorating her mouth. Her hair was fair to the point of white, and her eyes were the most startling blue. She looked to be no older than thirty, and but for her bizarre attire, she could have been very pretty.

"Welcome! Welcome!" she beamed, and took his hand in both of her's, pumping it vigorously.

"'Allo." the Doctor replied, smiling. "I don't think I've 'ad the honour?"

"Indeed, you never have. My name is Znya Xul Mahnya Tuzk Dhara, and you are standing in High Keep, my castle."

The Doctor chuckled. "Nah, I don't think so, madam. That's a Gallifreyan name, and you aren't Gallifreyan. Of that, I assure you."

"We'll come to that presently." Znya said calmly, the forced smile not leaving her face. She turned to Rose and Jack. "And these are..."

"Rose Tyler, an' Cap'n Jack Harkness. Mates o' mine."

Znya shook each of them by the hand, ignoring Jack's flirtatious wink as she heaved his entire arm up and down violently.

"Well, come!" she beamed finally. "Come! Join me at dinner, if it please. We've got a lot to discuss. A lot."

The Doctor took his place beside Rose on the grand dining table, with Jack at the head, facing Znya.

"Nice place you got here," he drawled, helping himself to fruits of the forest, and roasted pork. "Any wine?"

Znya stiffened. "I don't drink." she replied. "Dulls the senses."

"That's basically the point." Jack winked at her again, and she blinked, a shy smile tugging at her red lips.

"Cartwright?" she called, and a timid lad appeared from the corner of the room. Well hidden, so he was, the perfect servant; the Doctor hadn't even known he was there.

"I'm sure there must be a _little_ wine in the cellar, am I right?"

"Yes, my lady." he bowed low and scarpered from the room in haste.

The Doctor sighed and helped himself to a few blackberries. There were tasteless and pappy, a surefire sign of fruit that'd been frozen for weeks, perhaps months, before today.

Frozen food, in the year 1500.

"Now, what's going on here?" he demanded of Znya, popping a couple of red berries into his mouth. They were little better than their black counterparts. "How did you bring us here? I'll be blunt about this, Znya, you've got some _serious_ tech hidden away here. You clearly ain't of this time, and you shouldn't be 'aving stuff like this here. What would 'appen if one of the locals got their hands on this stuff?"

"Oh, chaos." Znya said casually. "Unmitigated damage to the timeline, the end of reality as we know it, all out disaster...but worry not, Doctor, worry not - mother always told me to be careful. It was her from whom I inherited it. A Gallifreyan timescoop, and probably the last one in existence. You can see it later, if you wish."

The Doctor stiffened up. "No." he said simply. "No, you aren't Gallifreyan. You can't be!"

"I am." Znya said. "I promise you that I am."

"Doctor?" Rose said uncertainly, coiling her fingers reassuringly around his sleeve, "if she's...perhaps you aren't the last one!"

"He isn't." Znya said quietly. "Doctor, you were blunt with me earlier, and I appreciate straight talking, so now I'll return the favour and be blunt with you in turn. My mother was Romanadvoratrelundar, the Time Lady who you knew as Romana, and who travelled with you for some time, many years ago. Except...you were a little more than travelling companions, were you not?"

"Hold on..." Jack said slowly, "this ain't going where I think it's going..."

The Doctor felt himself trembling violently, and grabbed Rose's hand from his sleeve, clutching it tightly with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking.

"It's ok," Rose breathed, "hear her out."

"Back then, something happened between you." Znya continued. "And the simple reality is that you are, and always will be, my father."

* * *

**Note: I started writing this literally a few hours before Fugitive of the Judoon aired...Jack's back! :o**

**All reviews welcome, by the way. Positive or otherwise. **


	4. Cowards in Crime

**_The Fourth Doctor_**

_Touched Romana's reddened, peeling cheek delicately, blinking back tears with only the greatest difficulty. A whole year had passed since he'd last seen her, following his arbitrary arrest in Blackpool; the Judoon wanted him for a number of offences, all of which he was guilty of. As he was being led away, Romana said that she'd wait in Blackpool, with the Tardis, where she ought to have been safe. _

_Things never go to plan._

_Somehow - and the Doctor knew not how, for he hadn't been able to speak to her - she'd ended up on a medical starliner, powered by a nuclear reactor which was far, _far _beyond it's prime. _

_He made it back to Blackpool eventually, for a bribe goes a long way with the Judoon, and he'd expected to find Romana where he'd left her - hopelessly bored, probably quite angry, but essentially safe and well. Instead he'd discovered a note in the console room, giving him the co-ordinates for this ship. _

_A nightmare spectacle had unfolded here. Two days prior to his arrival, that poor, overworked reactor in the very bowels of the vessel finally decided that enough was enough, and cracked it's casing with a sudden surge of power. Tyrell, the nuclear engineer, had worked through the night to repair the damage and minimize the radiation leakage, all to good effect. _

_He'd had a helper, too - the only other person on board who was qualified to help, and who, through sheer horrible accident, had found herself shut into the sonic chamber when a frightful shot of radiation flooded it._

_"Is she suffering?" he asked Tyrell, taking a steadying breath to calm his nerves._

_"Now? Nah. Not at all. But your something of a scientist, I understand, so you know what's coming for her, right?"_

_"I do." the Doctor purred miserably. "How high was her dose?"_

_"Oh, mate, it was well over a thousand rem. There ain't a hope for her...she might last another week or two, but whatever time she's got left is gonna be horrific for her. We shouldn't put her through that. Shouldn't do it."_

_"You'd have us end things for her now?"_

_"Yes, mate. Kindest thing, isn't it? Now listen...I've got a vaporizer in me quarters, and at full power, it's an instant death. Or else, I got me a good old fashioned ballistic weapon, if you'd rather have a body to bury. She'd never feel a bullet between the eyes, but it'll make a lot more mess than the vaporizer. It's your call."_

_The Doctor shook his head. "Neither. I'll take her home with me."_

_"Buddy..." Tyrell said sadly, "a _thousand _rem! She ain't never recovering from this. Lethal dose is less than half o' that."_

_"I know, I know!" the Doctor snapped, his deep voice bouncing off the walls of the sterile beige hospital wing in the beset starliner. "She _will _die. But not for long."_

_"Eh?"_

_"We aren't like you," the Doctor told Tyrell, "we're from the planet Gallifrey, and nobody from Gallifrey ever _really _dies. Her current body is finished, but a new one waits in the wings. On the point of death, she'll change into it, born again."_

_Tyrell made neither hide nor hair of this remark, and his bewilderment was plastered comically to his kindly round face. "Well..." he said reluctantly. "It's just as you like, mate. If you want to take her, I'll not stop you. Though I say again, it would be so much kinder to just let her go."_

_"Thank you." the Doctor nodded gravely. "But trust me on this. May I take her now?"_

_"Sure thing, pal. I'll help you with her. Where's your ship?"_

_"East wing."_

_"Right."_

_They wheeled Romana's hospital bed in silence along the gloomy grey corridors of the insipid spaceship, in silence for most of the way. The Doctor would have been happy to let than silence roll on, allowing him refuge in his own thoughts, but sadly Tyrell wasn't a man to stay quiet for long._

_"So I never asked," he blurted out, as they waited for a lift up to the east wing. "You and her...you a couple?"_

_"No," the Doctor said at once, "no, simply good friends. We travel together. I mean...were were intimate once. Just once, mind you. But it would never have worked out."_

* * *

_Romana rose again, about a week after he and Tyrell wheeled her into the Tardis. She was gifted with a remarkably rare talent too, the power to decide upon and alter the appearance of her next body, in the hours immediately following regeneration. With this new Romana, who was less aloof than her predecessor, and altogether better disposed towards him, they became a lot more than friends..._

* * *

**_The Ninth Doctor_**

"So," Znya said quietly, "once she recovered, did she ever tell you _why_ she was on that starliner, when she'd promised to wait in Blackpool?"

"Yeah!" the Doctor insisted, "yeah, she did! She said...um...well, she said..."

"You don't remember." Znya said simply. A statement not a question.

"It were hundreds o' years ago!" the Doctor exclaimed, his voice high pitched and quavering. "Blimey, I can't remember every little thing that"-

-"Well, I can _tell_ you why she was on the starliner. Shortly after your arrest, she fell pregnant. With me. She gave birth to me three months before the accident."

"And sent you to live in Tudor England?" Rose snorted. "Why would she do that?"

Znya chuckled. "Miss. Tyler, if you had a baby girl, would _you_ take her travelling with this man?"

Rose thought it over. "No." she admitted sheepishly. "But..._Tudor England?_ Not the safest spot, is it?"

"But why did she leave you at all?" Jack butted in, accepting a small glass of wine from Cartwright. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she was a coward."

Everyone recoiled in horror, as the Doctor slammed a heavy fist on the tabletop. He could feel the anger, the fear and confusion, radiating from him in hot waves, which were sensed by everyone in the room. It was said that there was no more frightful a spectacle than an angry Time Lord, and right now he was well beyond anger.

"You don't talk about her like tha'!" he bellowed.

"But it's true." Znya shrugged. "She was a coward, and knew that you were a coward too, and decided that I'd be better off - far better off - growing up far away from the pair of you. She never _did_ tell you why she was on the starliner, and you being you, never even thought to ask! She didn't want you to know, and she transmatted me away without a second thought. I grew up right here, in this castle, raised by the lord and lady of Callow's Reach. They're both gone now, alas. That makes me the lady of Callow's Reach.

The Doctor finally looked her in the eye, and felt his lower lip trembling. "But you _can't_ be...you _can't be_ mine!"

"Well," Jack muttered, "there's a surefire way to find out for sure, right?"

* * *

"You sure you know what your doing?" Rose asked uncertainly, as Jack fiddled fervently with the controls of the Tardis.

"Oh, yeah," he said unconvincingly. "Your in the presence of a fully qualified time agent, don't forget!"

_"Former_ time agent." the Doctor barked, looking deeply uncomfortable as he fitted a lethal looking wire helmet to his head. Beside him, Znya was fitting one to her own head.

"Watch your tongue, handsome, or else I might press the wrong button by accident."

"Flamin' heck..." the Doctor muttered under his breath, "how did I get talked into this?"

"Relax." Rose said, ignoring the hammer of her own heart as Jack frowned in confusion, hitting the same button repeatedly. From somewhere deep within the engines came an angry groan, and a flurry of sparks from the ancient controls.

"Ooh, you_ bitch!"_ Jack exclaimed, glaring at the central column. "I might not be the Doctor, but you can damn well behave for me!"

The Doctor shared a horrified glance with Rose, as Jack spent a few more moments bashing at the console, before chuckling.

"Swell! We're in business, folks. Now, whatever you do, don't take the helmets off 'til it's over."

"Is this likely to hurt?" Znya frowned nervously, her face screwed up.

Jack shrugged. "Yeah!" he laughed. "Very much!" He pulled the master lever.

The Doctor gritted his teeth as a thousand volts of ion power surged through the helmet and into his body, setting his every nerve aflame, his every muscle trembling, and each of his bones rattling in their sockets.

"Hang in there," he heard Jack cry from far away, "just a few seconds, and we'll be done."

It took longer than a few seconds. A lot longer, in fact. Closer to a full minute. The Doctor's whole body was sore and aching, his hearts smashing in his chest and his eyesight blurry. Despite his ills, he yanked the helmet off as soon as the process was over, and staggered to his feet.

"Well?" he demanded of Jack, collapsing onto the console which groaned beneath his weight. "Yes? _Yes?"_

Jack's mouth was opening and closing like that of a goldfish. He gave a nonplussed shrug, and looked up from the monitor. "She's yours! With a hundred percent certainty. It's a perfect match. Hey, man...congratulations! Your a dad."

The Doctor ignored him, and looked down as Znya, who was climbing to her own feet painfully, a vindicated smile tugging at her lips.


	5. No Bo Yo

**_The Ninth Doctor_**

Wasn't proving a natural father, thus far. He hadn't a clue what to say to his newfound daughter, who sat opposite him before a mighty fire burning in the hearth. It was late now, and Rose and Jack had long since retired to their bedrooms. But sleep was the very last thing on the Doctor's mind.

"She visited you then," he said, peering into the depths of the fire, so hot that it was burning his eyes. "Did she come often?"

"No. Now and again. Less, as the years went on. Always spoke highly of you, though. Not a visit went by when you weren't the hot topic. She loved you, Doctor. I mean...father..."

The Doctor chuckled. "Doctor is fine."

"Doctor, then. Look, I was upset earlier, and I shouldn't of called you both cowards. She did right by me, in her own limited way. Gave me to a wealthy lord and lady who couldn't sire children of their own. This is a cruel era she left me in, no doubt, but I grew up in the best of it. I have dined with King Henry Tudor himself, would you believe?"

"Henry...the eighth?" the Doctor chuckled nervously. "Wait, no...too early. Henry the seventh, then?"

"That's the one," she agreed, "what kind of king will Prince Henry be? A good one, I'll wager? I've not heard much about him, but what little I have heard, I've liked. I used to daydream that one day father...my adoptive father, I mean...might suggest me as a match for him. I could have been Queen!"

"Yeah..." the Doctor squirmed, "yeah, being Henry the Eighth's Queen ain't too good a position to hold. You ain't still pursuing it, right?"

She shook her head. "It won't happen now. When father died, he took any chance of it with him."

"Is that why you've brought me here?" the Doctor asked, as Cartwright bustled over with two glasses of mulled wine. He took his and sipped politely from the goblet. It was pleasantly fruity and steaming hot. "Why now, Znya? Coz I'm the only parent you got left?"

"Goodness, no!" Znya exclaimed, "there is a reason, but it's nothing _that_ soppy!"

"Then what?" the Doctor demanded. "Is it money you want? Because I'm far short of a shilling, I'll tell ya that for nothing. Never carry money."

At this, Znya chuckled.

"What?" the Doctor demanded, smiling in spite of himself.

"Nothing," she giggled, peering at him from over the rim of her goblet. "It's just that your exactly like mother always said you would be."

"Is that a compliment?"

Znya considered. "Not really, no." she admitted. "But I didn't bring you here for your money, and I certainly didn't bring you here because I'm pining for a father figure. I brought you here, because according to mother, your good at..._fixing things._ Is that right?"

"Depends." the Doctor said airily. "I'm a menace with the plumbing, and I don't know me way round a building site."

"That's not what I mean," Znya chortled, "as you well know."

"Sure." the Doctor frowned. "Your talking about _problems,_ ain't ya?"

"I am at that," Znya agreed, "your good at fixing problems, am I right?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I get by."

"Quite. Well, I've got a problem that I'd like some help with. Ride with me tomorrow. You and the others. There's something I'd like you to see."

* * *

**_Morning_**

You wouldn't spot the ice house unless you knew it was there.

It was an unassuming little bunker nestled in the very bosom of Callow's Wood, the summer-lush grounds surrounding High Keep and the village. Summer-lush they may be, but alas, it was deepest pit of winter just now. The trees, of numerous breeds and sizes, hung bare-branched above them, half-obscuring the white winter's sky, and going a way towards shielding them from the incessant snowfall. The Doctor liked snow well enough, drawing a child-like buzz from the sight of the white stuff, so novel and fun that it was. Nevertheless, there was such a thing as too much, and it hadn't stopped falling since they'd arrived last night. Probably, it was eight feet thick in places, and still rising.

And amidst this frozen forest, this winter's scene from Christmas cards yet to come, was tucked a little barred passageway, semi-hidden between two large shrub bushes. Beyond the barred door was naught by darkness, and a musty stale smell from within. This was a _cold_ place, in more ways than one. In summer, the lady of Callow's Reach, his daughter, could store perishable food in there, and postpone it from festering. In winter, of course, it was broadly useless.

_Broadly_ useless. Not totally. It could still be used for storing things, or indeed, holding them...

"We didn't know where else to put it." Znya remarked, dismounting fluidly from her horse, her legs swinging over the bulk of the brute with practiced ease. The Doctor clambered down from his mount with considerably greater difficulty, but at least his was a more graceful attempt than Jack's, who fell flat on his back after getting a foot caught in one of the stirrups.

"Smoothly done." Rose cackled, helping him upright and dusting down the back of his blue coat, which was riddled with filthy bits of the forest floor.

Znya chuckled lightly, and padded through the snow towards the ice house, a large iron key clamped in her red-gloved hand.

"As I was saying, we couldn't think where else to put it. I didn't want it in the castle, and there was nowhere in the village secure enough to hold it. It's damned strong, any man of the town'll tell you that. Took nearly all of 'em to get it in here."

The Doctor beamed. "I'm interested!" he exclaimed. "And it ain't gonna try and kill us?"

"I'd happen not," Znya said uncertainly. "Been down there for a full four weeks, and we've not fed it much. Once a day, at most. Reckon it's too weak to put up much of a fight just now."

"Well for all our sake's, let's hope your right." the Doctor laughed. He nodded at the gate. "Go on, then. Let's get it over with."

Znya nodded and unlocked the door to the ice house, which swung open with a noisy creak. The Doctor held his breath and edged through the threshold, walking into the oppressive darkness of the ice house. He withdrew the sonic from his pocket and used the light to illuminate his way some. It revealed a round chamber, with damp-riddled brickwork, and a pit dug about fifteen feet into the ground.

"Ah." he said calmly, as he pointed his screwdriver into that pit, and saw it's occupant, which sat leaning against the glistening walls, glaring up at him with flaring rage. It's eyes were beady little mean dots situated above a cumbersome grey-brown snout with two lethal looking horns jutting out of the top.

Jack joined him at the edge of the pit and whistled. _"Wooaah!"_ he exclaimed, shrinking back away from the edge, "there's a sight I never like to see."

The Doctor chuckled. "Guessing it ain't ever good news for you, is it? When the Judoon come calling?"

"Generally not." Jack admitted.

"Judoon, did you say?" Znya cut in. "Are they dangerous?"

"Nah," the Doctor said airily. "Well...provided you don't provoke 'em. And provided they aren't in a bad mood...but it strikes me that you've provoked this one pretty badly, eh?"

"There's plenty more where he came from, too." Znya said darkly. "There's about fifty of 'em! They've been attacking the villagers for months."

The Judoon scrambled to it's feet, chains rattling around it's ankles, and started barking orders up at them in it's harsh mother tongue, the rhino's eyes swiveling madly in their sockets.


	6. Here and There

**_Rose Tyler_**

It was the Judoon who captured the Doctor in Blackpool, and separated him for Romana, during which time she conveniently fell pregnant.

There were Judoon here, now, stalking the forests surrounding the castle of the Doctor's alleged daughter.

Rose wished she could believe Znya. She wished she could believe it a mere coincidence, that one and the same species should be both here, and there. But she didn't believe that. Try as she might, she _couldn't_ believe that.

Then what?

"D'you trust her?" she asked Jack, as they rode through the forest a ways behind father and daughter, who'd both rode magnificently. They were heading for the last known location of the Judoon camp, and Rose had discovered a tolerably amateur knack for riding, whereas poor Cap'n Harkness remained a failing novice. Understandable; a space captain of the future would have little to do with riding any living beast.

"I don't know," he drawled, his watery eyes narrowing as he glared at Zyna's retreating back. "I want to."

"Same," Rose exclaimed, "I mean, I really want to! If that's really his girl, then it'll do him the world of good. He won't be alone anymore!"

Jack shook his head. "He ain't alone though, Rose. He's got you. And me, for what little that's worth."

"Oh, it's worth plenty," she assured him, "he just has a funny way of showing it. But me and you, we can't compete. If Znya is another Gallifreyan, his own flesh and blood, then..."

"I know," Jack said quietly. "and I also know that if she's lying about it, I'll bury her myself."

"Get in line, mate." Rose said darkly. "Could she have tampered with the DNA scan at all?"

Jack shrugged a shoulder. "From my experience, no. I don't see any way she could have doctored the result it gave. But..."

"Yeah?"

"I've seen me a bit of the universe, ya know. Not as much as the Doctor I'll grant, but still more than most. And I never call anything impossible just coz I personally haven't seen it done before."

"So what do we do?" Rose demanded. "What _can_ we do to be sure?"

"Keep an eye on her," Jack replied, "now and always. If you see anything from her that don't stack up right, you tell me. Huh?"

"I will at that." Rose agreed, frowning at the Doctor, whom was chatting amicably with Znya ahead of them. _"He_ seems convinced, at any rate."

"And that's pretty darned odd in itself, don't you think?"

"How's that?"

"Ach, come on Rose! The man's a professional cynic if ever there was one! Does it really seem like him, to just swallow a story like this?"

Rose shook her head. "Not much."

"Right. But listen, don't go airing these suspicions to either of them. Not yet, anyway. If Znya ain't who she claims to be, then we've no way of knowing how she might react to being confronted."

"Yeah," Rose spat, "but then, if she's lying to the Doctor, then she sure as anything won't be prepared for how _we'll_ react to that."

* * *

**Note: Just to reiterate, a couple of reviews wouldn't go amiss - the numbers show I've got a good handful of people reading this, so I'd love to hear a few thoughts if anyone has a few seconds to spare. :D **


	7. The Judoon Who Said Sorry

**_The Fourth Doctor_**

_"Bo, Sko, Fo, Do, Kro, Mo, Sho, Bo, No, To!"_

"Bless you!" the Doctor beamed, allowing the leather-clad figures to attach strong cuffs to his wrists.

One of these figures, whom was distinguished by a red bead upon his breast plate, held a small red device up to the Doctor's mouth.

"Hmm..." the Doctor frowned, heartily confused. "Well, I'd offer you a jelly baby, but...ha..." he lifted up his bound hands.

The creature ignored him and the Doctor heard his words repeated by the little red device, in high-pitched monotone.

_"Language assimilated,"_ the creature growled, _"designation Earth English."_

"Really?" the Doctor chuckled, "yes, well I suppose High Gallifreyan a little beyond your gizmo's memory banks."

_"Silence!"_ the leader growled, _"you are hereby under arrest for multiple intergalactic violations of"-_

-"Yes, thank you. I'll exercise my right not to be cautioned, I do so hate a long list. Romana!"

"Doctor?" Romana replied sullenly, the Doctor's arrest presenting little to no surprise to her.

"These charming fellows seem reluctant to introduce themselves to me." It was true - they'd beamed onto the pier, scared the locals off, and placed him in handcuffs without so much as a hello. That was simply bad manners! "Would you happen to know who they are?"

She nodded. "I think...Judoon."

_"Correct." _The leader lifted his heavy, jutting helmet off and revealed the hideous grey-brown head of a rhino, with two large horns viciously poking from the snout.

"I'm charmed!" the Doctor beamed, giving the alien his best, scariest grin. "Well. Goodbye, Romana! I'll try not to be gone for long, but..."

The Judoon growled and seized his bound wrists.

"I'll wait for you," she told him, though she didn't sound at all happy about it. "I'll wait for you here, and look after the Tardis."

"Good girl," he said, allowing the Judoon to drag him into teleport position. _"I will return!"_

* * *

**_The Ninth Doctor_**

They were exactly as he remembered them, not that this was anything like a good thing. It was, in fact, a spectacularly bad thing.

They were camped clumsily around the wreckage of their ship, a vast red cylinder of metal which had dug itself deep into the ground, almost entirely buried beneath the forest. Only the top was visible, and the glade was now a deadened crater.

"Now, let's be reasonable about this," the Doctor said to the Judoon captain sternly, "you've been attacking the peasants around and about, and we can't be 'aving that. I understand that your violation of this planet's sovereignty was purely accidental, but the Shadow Proclamation aren't likely to forgive you murdering the people of a Level Four planet, right? What say we call a truce?"

_"Judoon are permitted to take all measures necessary to the defence of the squadron and it's officers!"_ was the reply.

"Self defence?" the Doctor laughed. "Lady Znya here tells me you've just been letting rip at the poor beggars whenever they come into the woods. That ain't the right way of doing things, lads."

He frowned.

"Hold on..." he turned to Znya, who was shuffling her feet awkwardly.

"Well..." she said sheepishly, "it's true that one of my citizens _did_ attack a Judoon first. But he was just scared, damn it! He was bladdered on ale, and it was the middle of the night! What would _your_ reaction be, if one of these chaps came at you out of the dark?"

The Doctor turned back to the Judoon. "What's your counter to that?"

The Judoon looked at him blankly.

"Your..." the Doctor searched impatiently for the right words, which would help the simple-minded brute understand his meaning, "your...reply? What do _you _say in response to what _she_ said?"

No reply.

"Ach," he waved his hands helplessly, "all right, never mind. You'll all be pleased to know that I've got the perfect solution!" he turned to Znya. "You'll release the officer you have hostage in the ice house, with your apologies. And _you,"_ he turned back to the captain, "will come into the village with me, and formally apologize for killing the citizens. In return, I'll effect the repairs on ya spaceship. You can go home! How's that for a good deal?"

_"Ship irreparable,"_ the captain said immediately, _"Judoon will remain here, and wait for central command to send rescue craft."_

"And what if they don't?"

_"Central command _will _come to our aid!"_

"But what if they don't? You've been here for weeks, chaps! Your radios are down, your completely cut off! For all you know, they might think your dead. An' I'll hazard a guess that a superb brain like mine can fix this "irreparable" damage that's 'appened to your ship."

The Judoon growled, and looked to Znya.

"We got a deal, right?" the Doctor pressed.

* * *

"Making a Judoon say sorry," the Doctor laughed, "that's summink you don't see every day."

"Not very sincere though, is he?" Rose laughed, as the captain of the Judoon stomped into the snowy, ramshackle town at the foot of High Keep, glaring at the nonplussed, raggedy peasants who'd emerged from their rough wooden warrens to gape at it. The bogeyman come to town! The night demon, out in the open in broad daylight! A rarer spectacle, never there was.

_"Judoon here to make an official statement!"_ the captain barked harshly, baring it's teeth at the terrified townsfolk, _"formal apology for the inappropriately harsh justice administered to your people."_ he nodded to his subordinate, who handed out several laminate slips, upon which large, alien writing was scrawled. _"Compensation."_ he grunted, as the officer shoved the slips into the hands of the twenty-something peasants who'd gathered around the town square to witness the sight of the monstrous rhinos.

He turned on his heel. "_Statement of apology tendered!"_ he told the Doctor, stomping off back towards the woods without another word, his underling following at his heels.

"Well," the Doctor said bracingly, grinning at the townsfolk, "weren't that nice of him!"

"Very moving." Jack said sarcastically, whilst Rose fought down an obvious urge to laugh.

"Yeah, well, it's a Judoon. What were you expecting, tears an' a box of choccies? Now come on, I'm freezing me fingers off out here."

They traipsed out of the quaint little town and parted ways at a fork in the road. The Doctor was accompanying the Judoon back into the woods, to fix their ship for them as promised. It would probably take him the entire night, and then some. Znya had gone to release the Judoon in the ice house, and Jack and Rose would be dining with her once she returned.

* * *

**_Rose_**

Was looking forward to her dinner.

It was far past time that she and Zyna had a proper chat, girl to girl.


	8. The Hidden Stairs

**_Rose Tyler_**

"Your not dining with us?" she exclaimed, bitterly crestfallen.

"Would that I could, but no." Znya said apologetically, "I've got a nice mountain of paperwork waiting up in my chambers, and I daren't leave it any later in the day. I'll never get to bed if I don't start it soon. It's terribly rude of me, I realize, but my position doesn't allow for niceties."

She clapped her hands, and young Cartwright emerged from the shadowy corner of the dining hall, his favourite lurking spot. "Yes, my lady?" he said eagerly, his gormless face twisted into a smile.

"Yes, feed my guests." she said. "Have chef prepare whatever meals they wish, and don't skip on the wine."

"Immediately!" Cartwright ambled over to Rose and took her clumsily by the elbow, leading her into a seat at the table. Jack shuffled in beside her, and Znya made her apologies once more before taking her leave of them.

"Well, my lady?" Cartwright beamed, "what'll it be?"

Rose could get behind a nice juicy chicken, but she didn't much trust a chicken cooked in 1500. Znya might have a fridge, yes, but it would still be cooked in a Tudor kitchen, and potentially buzzing with bacteria. Probably having no meat was the safest option.

"D'you have any more of those plums from last night?"

"Mountains of them!" Cartwright practically shouted in her face, so determined he was to suck up to her, "and to drink?"

"Oh..." she shrugged. "Go on then, a little wine."

Jack ordered just the same, and Rose pounced on him the moment Cartwright was out of earshot.

"D'you buy that?" she demanded. "Paperwork?"

Jack shrugged. "Ain't no reason to think she's lying, other than..."

"Other than the distinct gut feeling that she's lying?"

"Yeah." Jack nodded. "What say me and you go for a little look around after dinner?"

"Damn straight."

* * *

**_Later_**

"We _came_ that way!" Rose exclaimed, as Jack suggested they take the leftmost path at the four way fork in the corridors.

"Rubbish!" he shot back, nodding at the corridor beside that one, "we came _that_ way!"

Rose felt like crying just then, and wondered how she and Jack could have gotten so hopelessly lost in the castle's unruly labyrinth of identical corridors and pathways. The floor was simple unswept stone, the walls grey brickwork, with precisely nothing to distinguish one way from the next. Each door they went through led to four more, which spawned others in turn, and Rose was _sure_ that retracing their steps had brought them somewhere entirely different to where they'd started...

"So do we have to start screaming, or what?" Jack asked sullenly. "How do we explain why we're here?"

"We'll give it a few minutes," Rose replied, "then yeah, we'll scream."

The decision bore it's rotten fruit when eventually - after several swear words, cloned corridors and faceless doors - they stumbled upon something new. A staircase, hidden behind a unique, jet black door!

Looking back on these times, Rose would always recall her joy at finding those stairs, for her happiness just then was so starkly contradicted by what came shortly thereafter. Had Rose known, or had the slightest inkling, of what she'd find atop that staircase, she'd have surely turned on her heel and run, run faster than the wind, sprinted away as fast as her feet would carry her, with Jack tearing along beside her, his long blue coat flapping behind him.

How she came to wish they'd done exactly that, as opposed to the course of action they did take that night.

They went up the stairs...


	9. The Web Tower

**_Rose Tyler_**

It was the smell she noticed first.

It was a curious thing, certainly unpleasant, yet vaguely likable somehow, and somewhat familiar. It was the smell of a farmyard. That high and sultry whiff of animal dung, and hay and all manner of bad hygiene and potential disease...though the odour itself was foul, it stirred happy memories within her, recollections of days long past. Once a year, every year, her mother would save enough money to take them both out of London for a weekend. Never did they ever have enough to go abroad; neither Jackie's benefits or minimum wage could stretch to overseas travel, however hard she tried to make it work.

Rose never minded. Those annual weekends, in remote and rural Essex, Norfolk or Dorset, were some of the happiest times of her childhood, and it was from those times that she'd smelled this aroma before, whilst admiring the pigs, or feeding the goats, perhaps trying to bat away the fat summer flies from the faces of the donkeys.

That such a smell should be coming from behind a door, in the turret chamber of a Tudor castle, made no sense. She and Jack were stood outside that door, with the staircase behind them, and the winter's chill biting their ankles as it crept along the flagstones.

But there was more than the smell at play; from beyond that door, could be heard a faint scurrying and clicking noise.

"Something's in there," Jack drawled, "wanna go in?"

Rose bit her lip and shuddered. "I'm not sure. D'you think we should?"

He nodded. "We agreed to keep an eye on Znya, and look for anything odd, right? Strikes me that keeping living creatures locked in a tower ain't too normal."

"S'pose so," Rose admitted, resting her left hand on the icy black latch of the door. "Ready, then?"

He nodded, and Rose took a breath, before wrenching the door open and tumbling into the room with Jack.

She took it for snow, at first, and was suitably puzzled. It was true that it was snowing a blizzard outside, of course, yet how could such snow have found it's way into this turret, bypassing both solid roof and shuttered window?

Before she could voice her confusions to Jack, however, she realized that it wasn't snow at all.

It was white enough to be snow, but the texture was entirely wrong. The entire chamber, walls, floors and ceiling, was coated in the stuff. It was rather like cotton, or wool perhaps, and the smell of farm was gaggingly overwhelming. Jack gingerly rested his foot in the stuff, and groaned as it sank several inches into the stuff, which clung onto it's boot and lower leg like expanding foam.

"What is it?" Rose hissed, feeling sick.

"It's..." the colour drained from Jack's face and he wrenched his foot free with enormous difficulty. The substance was reluctant to let go, and gave off a scrunching noise as Jack disturbed it.

"It's a web!" he exclaimed, through gritted teeth.

"A web..." Rose repeated, bile stirring in her gut, as her legs gave way to jelly.

Above them, charging down it's web at speed, was an unspeakable spider of bright red, with poisonous white spots on it's fat back, the markings identical to a toadstool. There was nasty lizard frills around it's inky eyes, and the joints of it's powerful legs. It's body was as large as a horse, and it's legs spanned about eight feet. Two venomous pincers clicked menacingly as it hurried towards them.

But for Jack being there, Rose might well have stayed rooted to the spot, allowing it to tear her apart. She was too scared to move, or even scream, so terrified that she thought surely her heart was to give out, letting her fell down dead immediately, and good, for to be dead was to be away from this monster bearing down on her, a sight worse even than her deepest nightmare, more horrific than anything she'd ever seen before in all her travels...

Jack grabbed her by the hand and wrenched her back through the door and out of the spider's chamber. He tried to slam that door shut behind them, but the spider was having none of it, and smashed itself into the open frame, trying to squeeze itself through, it's legs scrabbling desparatley at the door-frame, it's pincers smashing into each other, eight eyes ablaze with furious hunger, unblinking.

Rose jumped a foot in the air as a gunshot sounded, a bullet slamming into the face of the spider, and drawing noxious black goo that was it's blood. The spider recoiled slightly, and Jack fired again, hitting it just below one of it's eyes. The spider knew when it was beaten; it turned and scurried away from the door, gliding over it's webbed chamber with that same rustling noise that Rose had heard earlier. Jack slammed the door closed and rested his hands against the wood, panting. Slowly, he turned on Rose.

"We gotta tell the Doc."


	10. The Warden of Callow's Reach

_**The Doctor**_

Had managed to send the Judoon on their merry way, and received something resembling thanks for it - the Judoon captain expressed his gratitude in a characteristically brusque way, indeed his gratitude sounded more like a threat than anything else. But he'd expected little better, and indeed, a small reward had been passed his way - a little laminate slip which gave him and a plus one access to some intergalactic theme park which he'd never heard of, and had no desire to visit. He'd save it for a later regeneration - a younger one, more fun-loving, who'd love nothing better than visiting a theme park. Of course, he had no idea if any such regeneration would ever come about; all being well, he had three regenerations left, and for all he knew they might all be grumpy gets like him. Or indeed, they might all be squealing young lads with baby faces. Luck o' the draw...and though a change of genders was rare, it was by no means unheard of. He'd known Time Lords who'd become Time Ladies, and vice-versa. He wasn't sure he could picture himself as a lady, but he liked to keep an open mind about these things.

Returning to the here and now, he'd come back from repairing the Judoon ship filthy, exhausted, and looking forward to a nice late breakfast. No such joy. Rose and Jack pounced upon him the moment he returned, with a fantastic tale of...

"A giant spider?" he repeated, staring at them as if they were mad.

"Yes! Yes!" Rose exclaimed, "up in one of the towers! It tried to bloody well kill us!"

"That isn't my fault," Znya shot, "you went wandering! You've only yourselves to blame for the consequences!"

"Sure," Jack scoffed, "but why've you _got_ a giant spider, ma'am? That ain't normal."

The Doctor turned to Znya and shrugged. "It's a fair question, love. What's the deal?"

"I told you," she said calmly, "mother looked after me, in her own way. She didn't leave me to fend for myself in the Tudor times, she knew how dangerous it could be...Paula is there to protect me, if ever there's need of it."

_"Paula?"_ Rose repeated.

"Yeah, well she needs a name, don't she?" Znya chuckled. "She was the last gift mother ever gave to me. She was just an egg back then, and she's never seen another person besides me. I'm sorry she attacked you, truly, but it's entirely on you. She must have been terrified!"

"She wasn't the only one," Jack snapped.

The Doctor sighed and wrung his hands. "Look...clearly neither of youse is 'urt, besides a bit shocked. Was the spider"-

_-"Paula!"_

"Paula. Was Paula hurt?"

"I shot her twice," Jack said, sounding rather sheepish, "but she basically just shrugged it off. Ran away, but didn't seem badly hurt."

"Well, I'll have to check on her!" Znya exclaimed, looking worried. "But I'm sure she'll be fine...bullets don't do much do a creature like her."

"Right," the Doctor nodded, "well look, provided she's okay, I'd reckon there's no harm done, all things considered. What say we put this little incident behind us?"

Rose and Jack exchanged a glance, before nodding sullenly.

"Ok." Znya nodded slowly. "Doctor, will you take wine with me later? I have a proposition for you."

* * *

An hour later, they sat alone around the enormous, lit fireplace, each sipping from a glass of cloying blackberry wine.

"Have you given any thought as to what happens next?" Znya asked bluntly.

The Doctor took another sip of wine and frowned. "Can't say I have," he barked, "I mean...are you happy here, Zyn? Coz if not, I've got the whole universe at me fingertips. You could"-

-"I'll stop you there," she said kindly, "it's a flattering offer, but no. I _am_ happy here. Callow's Reach is my home, it's been my home for as long as I remember. And I own it. I _mean_ something here, whereas out there I'd be nothing...just one in a trillion-zillion lifeforms, and I don't think I could live with that."

"I understand," the Doctor said kindly, "an' if you don't want a daft old buffer like me hanging around, I'll understand that too. All I ask is you let me visit...for so long, I thought I was the last. Last Gallifreyan in existence, completely alone...in the space of a day, I've discovered that not only is that not true, but also that I'm a flamin' _father_ again!"

"I don't want you to go." Znya told him. "I won't force you to stay, I know from mother how much you love travelling. But you've been absent my entire life, Doc, and if you wanted to make up for that...I'd name you my warden."

"Warden, huh?" the Doctor raised his eyebrows. "An' what does it entail?"

"I rule Callow's Reach, but I also have to run it. I'm responsible for all the admin, all the trade deals, all the wars...I'm swamped with work, and I'm not _much_ good at it. I'd like to take a hands off approach with the nitty gritty, and _enjoy_ life a bit!"

The Doctor grinned. "You want me to run your district for you? Whilst you eat, drink and chill?"

Znya smiled. "Why, yes. I suppose that's the size of it. Oh, I'll do my bit, but if you want to make up for your absence, then this strikes me as a good job for ya!"

"Will I be paid?" he asked hopefully, wondering what in a million worlds he'd use any such money for.

"Not a penny," she beamed, "but you'll be well fed, you'll have good quarters here, and heck, I think you might even enjoy it! Solving problems, diplomacy, it's right up your street!"

"Politics ain't."

The frowned at him. "Were you, or were you not, once the Lord President of Gallifrey?"

"Well...yeah," he admitted, "but I weren't much cop at it. Truth be told, I were deposed for negligence. Never did nothing in the role."

"Right...so if you've never actually done political work, how do you know that you wouldn't enjoy it?"

_Damn, she's sharp,_ he thought proudly. _Wish that were me she got her brains from, but sadly it's from her mother._

"All right," he nodded slowly, "okay. I accept. On a _trial_ basis. I'll be your warden. I'll do me best to make summink outta Callow's Reach. Why not, eh?"

Znya beamed, and swept to her feet, planting a kiss on his cheek, directly over his mole. "Why not indeed?" she sang, "just don't muck it up."

"I'll do me best not to," he said, "blimey...happen I better tell the others."


	11. Accidents Happen, Now and Again

**_Sinclair Blackburn_**

"Fine shot, father!" Henry exclaimed sanctimoniously, as Sinclair's shaft buried itself in the fatty gut of the boar, their prey, felling it immediately. The poor thing went down with a squeal and a thump, then lay still in the dewy spring grass, in which the last vestiges of hard, ever-fading snow remained. It always depressed Sinclair to look at snow in this state, the final stages of it's inevitable thaw, naught but a dismal shadow of the thick white blanket that it was mere days before.

"Thank you, boy." Sinclair replied through gritted teeth, slinging his bow back over his shoulder and dismounting from his horse. His feet crunched through the grass as he approached the boar's carcass, and he nodded his approval at his own work. It was a fine animal, this boar, and would doubtless provide ample feed for everyone in Blackforte this week. Let it never be said that he, the lord of Blackforte, let's his people go hungry.

He bent down beside the dead animal, with the sound of birdsong in the trees above, and the smell of wilderness filling his nostrils. It was a glorious sunny day, mild to a fault for the first time in many a month. The kind of day where it truly felt as if nothing could go wrong, as if all was right and beautiful in the world, a world of delight and majesty, free from it's normal vices.

Which made it the right day, the _perfect_ day, for an accident to happen.

_It's now or never, _he thought to himself, as he slung the boar's carcass over his free shoulder._ It has to be today._

He threw the boar over his mount's broad backside and clambered up, watching his eldest son out of the corner of his eye.

"That enough for today, then?" Henry said hopefully, "coz I'd like me a mead, and I'd like me some luncheon. What say we make our tracks back to the forte?"

Sinclair shook his head and smiled, his heart hammering and his hands twitching on the reins. "Not yet!" he exclaimed, trying to keep his voice level, "we've been out just an hour, son! Let's go a little deeper into the woods, see if we can't bag us a deer to go with the boar. There might even be some early spring fruit hidden deep in the forest...doubtful I'll grant you, but not impossible."

"Very well," Henry replied sullenly, "another hour at most, if it please father. Lauryn wishes me back at noon."

Ah yes - Lauryn. His eldest son's peasant wife, who he'd married contrary to all Sinclair's wishes and pleas to the contrary. Henry, at just eighteen, had fallen deeply in lust for the twenty-four year old maiden, the cobbler's daughter, who would provide House Blackburn with a filthy peasant-blooded heir, tainting the noble bloodline that was Sinclair's, and his father's before him, a highborn seed stretching back at least a hundred years. Ruined, by a horny young bull who couldn't be told no, who cared not for his family, and who's drinking and whoring had brought Sinclair's name into disgrace.

It was high time that an accident happened, and today was the day.

"Have you heard the news from Callow's Reach?" he asked his son as they rode side by side into the forest.

"Nome, sir." Henry replied blankly. "What of it?"

"The Lady of Callow's Reach has installed a new council."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Whispers have it that her new warden, some newfangled man from overseas, is her true father! That he came to our shores with two friends in tow, and together the three of them act as Znya Dhara's eyes, ears and hands throughout the region."

"Indeed?" Henry sounded but faintly interested. "And how do they do in this role?"

"Well." Sinclair spat bitterly. "Too well. Callow's Reach was always fairly influential, but just lately, they've been outstripping even us in riches!"

"Never!" Henry exclaimed, "_we_ are the richest house in the land! We! Always have been!"

"So it was, my son, so it was...alas, this new warden seems sharper than we ever could have feared...it seems that Callow's Reach could be in complete control of the county before long."

Henry grinned, revealing his murky brown, cyder-rotten teeth. "Perhaps this new warden should suffer an accident."

_Like father like son...almost._

"Oh, an accident is vital," Sinclair agreed, "but I daren't risk any such action against them...if we're going to re-establish the dominance of House Blackburn, we must act with our wits, not just our blades."

"Fully agreed!" Henry exclaimed pompously, "and um...what did you have in mind, sir?"

"Matrimony!" Sinclair beamed, heart thundering, limbs shaking with excitement.

"Matrimony, father?"

"Yes, quite so." Sinclair nodded gravely. "My conjecture is this - we need not destabilize a newly rich house. We do not have to diminish a castle with newfound power. We need only _control_ it."

He slowly, quietly, withdrew a curved dagger from the pouch at his right hip.

"If my _eldest_ son were to marry with Znya Dhara...House Blackburn would become the de-facto ruler of Callow's Reach and it's magnificent warden, whilst also retaining out command of Blackforte. We can use the good fortune of Callow's Reach, if all works to plan, to _our own_ advantage, my boy!"

Henry frowned. "But sir...I'm your eldest son, and I am already married!"

"That you are." Sinclair purred, a single tear spilling from his left eye, and rolling down his stubbled cheek. "And even if you were not, you'd be an unsuitable match for a woman so beautiful. Your teeth are poor, your gut grossly swollen...to send you to Callow's Reach, a prospective suitor, would be taken as an insult, I fear."

_Now!_

"Lucky, then, that your younger brother is a fine looking man, and unmarried too."

Quick as a flash, Sinclair leaned sideways on his saddle, and brought his curved dagger slicing through the air, tearing deep into the throat of his bewildered firstborn son. Henry gurgled thickly through a mouthful of blood, his hands scrabbling at the wound in his neck, swaying alarmingly on his horse. He was trying to speak, but Sinclair looked pointedly the other way. He couldn't watch this. Couldn't do it.

He didn't dare look until he saw Henry fall backwards out of the corner of his eye, and heard the dead thump as he sprawled onto the ground, dead as mutton and twice as disgraceful.

That was the hard bit over and done with. Taking control of Callow's Reach would be a positive ease compared to this necessary first step.


	12. Behind the Mask

**_Rose_**

"Matrimony!" the Doctor exclaimed, reading from the scroll of parchment with a frown.

_"Another_ proposal?" Znya sighed. "Who's it from this time?"

"Lord Sinclair Blackburn, of Blackforte, recommending that you, Znya Xul Mahnya Tuzk Dhara, Lady of Callow's Reach, marry his oldest son and heir"-

-"Certainly not!" Znya spat, eyes wide with disgust. "I know well of Henry Blackburn, his repulsiveness is the stuff of notoriety! A whoring drunk, too lowly for a commoner, let alone me."

"Uh..." the Doctor skim read the message again, "well this don't name Henry Blackburn as his oldest son. According to this, his oldest's one Arthur Blackburn."

"Arthur Blackburn?" Znya sat up straight. "Why, that's his second born son, and he is reputed to be everything that his elder brother isn't."

"So I'm guessing Henry's dead?" Rose chimed in, keen to make some sort of contribution to the meeting, however dismal and small.

"That'd be my thinking," the Doctor agreed, putting the message down. "This Sinclair don't hang about to grieve, does he? Oldest boy dead, and he's already working to palm off his second son."

"Hmm." Znya shrugged, and took the message from the Doctor, her eyes glossing over it. "So what d'you all think?"

"You can't marry Arthur Blackburn, Zyn!" Jack drawled, leaning back on his chair and slamming his feet up on the round table, "I thought you was gonna marry me, baby!"

Znya giggled, but didn't grace the remark with a response.

"I reckon you should do just as you like," the Doctor said, "d'ya _want_ to marry Arthur Blackburn?"

"Want is a strong word." Znya said mildly. "But there's one thing I do want, and that's an heir. I'm without child Doctor, and not as young as I once was. Oh, I know that our lifespans far outstrip any humans, but...you never know what the next day brings, do you? If I were to die unexpectedly, Callow's Reach would be without a ruler!"

"There's summink in that," the Doctor agreed evenly, "but still, I'm reckoning the Blackburn's fancy a little more than just giving you an heir. They want Callow's Reach, Zyn. As your 'usband, he'd be basically in control the moment ya tie the knot."

"And that is a problem," Znya agreed, "but so is my having no heir. How do we reconcile the two?"

"I know!" Jack threw his feet off the table and sat up straight, pulling his chair closer to the table. "Zynny girl, you ever wondered where my accent comes from?"

Znya shrugged. "No. I assumed up north somewhere?"

"Wrong!" Jack exclaimed, slamming a fist on the table. "This is the lingo of my ancestors, the accent of the USA itself, greatest hub for business on Earth!"

"Never heard of it."

_"What?"_

"Bit early yet. It's only 1500." Rose said quietly, patting Jack's arm.

"Oh, yeah...well, as the closest thing to a businessman here, I'll tell you _exactly_ what you do to reconcile those two problems!"

"Go on."

"A _contract!"_ Jack beamed. "Enforceable in any and every court of law, a written document, an agreement, by which your marriage need not hand over _any_ control of Callow's Reach to Arthur. If he signs, then great! If he refuses, deny him the marriage he craves. Deny _him_ an heir as he denies you one."

"Jack," the Doctor breathed, "it flamin' well pains me to say it, but that's fantastic!"

"Well," Jack purred, leaning over to the Doctor, "I feel obliged to kiss you for saying that, Doctor. All good with that?"

"So long as it's _very_ quick." the Doctor screwed his face up as Jack planted a sloppy kiss on his lips.

"It could work," Rose said evenly, trying not to laugh at Znya's nonplussed expression. "If you reckon you do want to marry this guy?"

"I need to think on it." Znya said smoothly. "And I will. But for now, I suggest we move on to the next order of business."

"Sure," the Doctor said, "but when your thinking about it, also think about how you'd explain certain...things to this Arthur, if you end up marrying him. Not least, the flamin' great spider in the tower."

"Oh," Znya said, her face darkening, "there's be no need to explain _that_ to him."

Rose made a point of keeping the smile plastered to her face, as she exchanged the briefest glance with Jack, who was wearing an equally strained smile upon his handsome features.

It was the little things which gave Znya away. For the vast majority of these three, long months in 1500, Znya had been charming, chatty and altogether likable. So much so that Rose almost forgot to be suspicious of her from time to time, and almost felt comfortable in her presence.

And then the little things would happen. Sometimes she'd say or do something inexplicably odd, be rude without reason, make a comment that had little to no bearing to whatever she was responding to. Times like that reminded Rose of why she'd stayed here, why she'd refused point blank to be returned to her own time, so that the Doctor could stay here and serve as Znya's warden alone.

Something was wrong. Something was horribly, terribly wrong. The Judoon, so conveniently here to cause trouble, the castle with corridors that moved, the spider, and the strange lady in the middle of it all, who let something abnormal slip through the mask now and again, something sinister, and something that the Doctor remained inexplicably unable to see.

If Rose could finally get a glimpse, a proper glimpse, of whatever lay behind that mask, then she'd blow this nonsense wide open.


	13. Indecent Proposal

**_The Doctor_**

Didn't think much of Arthur Blackburn, on the whole. A vacant young man, with an insipid smile plastered to his face, and a gormless note in his bright blue eyes. He was a handsome man, no doubt about that, but the Doc had been around for long enough to know a boring man when he saw one. This young'un had only his looks going for him, and no brains to back up the favourable impression one would get from looking at him. His blonde hair and square jaw made him look a little like Fred from Scooby-Doo, albeit with a horrible little whiskery goatee sprinkled around his mouth.

His father was quite the opposite. Sinclair Blackburn was pushing fifty, and his long blonde hair was snowed white at the temples, with grey stubble coating his cheeks. He wasn't exactly fat, but a large gut hung weighty over his belt, a beer-belly if ever there was one. He had a handlebar mustache which was trimmed to perfection, smooth and equal lengths on both sides. An unattractive great sod, certainly, but cold and calculating intelligence lurked in his eyes.

"My lords," Znya said, observing them coolly from her throne in the entrance hall. The Doctor stood at her side, with Jack and Rose flanking the raised platform upon which the throne was placed. "Can I first express my sincere condolences - you have lost a son and a brother, at such a young age, and I cannot imagine how hard that is for you both."

"Thank you for saying so," Sinclair smiled, bowing his head, "Henry was a wonderful young man, it's true, but a drunkard like his father. He moved too slowly on our hunt, and the stag we sought pierced his throat with it's antler. I had the horrible honour of holding him as he drew his final breath...he went peacefully, under the circumstances. It was like watching a man drift off to sleep."

"Well, quite." Znya tutted sympathetically. "But let us not waste time with small-talk. I'm sure you don't want to relive that ghastly day for my benefit, so let us speak plainly. Why are you here?"

Sinclair stepped back and steered his son closer to Znya's throne. "As my letter explained," he said smoothly, "now that Arthur here is my eldest son and heir, it is vital for him to marry as soon as possible. We could think of no match better than yourself, my lady."

"I'm charmed." Znya smiled sardonically, giving Arthur her cold appraisal. "And why do you come to me only now? I don't recall ever being offered Henry's hand in marriage."

"Indeed not, my lady." Sinclair said gravely. "Two reasons for this. Firstly, Henry seldom did as I bade. As you perhaps know, he married a peasant girl without my consent."

"I did know that," Znya said, "continue."

"Well, secondly, you were not as desirable a match in years gone by. Only with the help of your warden has Callow's Reach thrived so richly in recent months." He bowed to the Doctor, who inclined his head curtly in turn.

"So what say you?" he pressed. "Will you accept my son's hand in marriage? Will you join our two great houses? Think of our potential, my lady, if our riches and influence were combined!"

"And you?" Znya turned to Arthur.

He blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Is this marriage what you want, my lord?"

"Oh...yes, my lady! Absolutely!" And he said nothing more.

"Right..." Znya looked at him uncertainly, as he stared blankly back at her, his mouth slightly ajar.

"I decline your proposal."

Sinclair Blackburn blinked. "Oh. And may I ask why?"

"You certainly may," Znya said smoothly, "let's not insult each other's intelligence, my lord. We both know why you are really here, and that's to take Callow's Reach for your own."

"Never! Callow's Reach is yours! It will always be yours, my lady!"

"Yes, but if I were to marry your...charming son, then to all intents and purposes, he becomes the lord of Callow's Reach, and I his lady. It will remain mine by law, of course, but his by practice. And through him, it will be yours."

"Such wicked and depraved thoughts never entered my mind, Lady Znya!" Sinclair bristled indignantly. "I want only my son wed to a suitable women, and pure born heirs for the both of our houses! Is this not what you want?"

Znya didn't answer. She merely turned in her seat and nodded to the Doctor, who extracted a scroll of parchment from his pocket.

"Well, lads," he said brightly, hopping off the throne platform and approaching the Blackburns, "could be that this is truly all ya want - a marriage, plenty o' kids, and some good old fashioned friendship. Looking at youse, I'd say yer both honest folk, good and honourable men. Am I right?"

"House Blackburn prides itself on it's honour!" Sinclair nodded vigorously.

"Right. Well as such, I'm thinking this marriage can go ahead, on one little condition..."

He showed the contract to Sinclair, delighting in the intensity of the rage he sensed building up inside the man.

"Just a 'lil precaution. This'll make sure my daughter keeps control of Callow's Reach, an' it gives us both what we need - heirs. I'm sure you'll be 'appy to sign."

Check.

Sinclair swallowed. "Why...why of course!" he managed a smile. "Certainly, certainly!" He turned to Znya.

She nodded slowly. "Very well..." she said. "Conditional upon your signing this agreement, then yes...yes, I consent. I will gladly marry your dear son."

Check-mate.


	14. An Echo

**_Rose_**

Hadn't been to any wedding that she'd enjoyed before. She'd attended her mother's friends wedding twice, once as a babe and then again with the Doctor, just recently, on what was undoubtedly one of the most difficult days of her life.

The wedding of Znya and Arthur was something else entirely. For one thing, it was held entirely outside, in the same clearing that the Judoon platoon had rigged camp a few months back. The groom looked positively radiant in his finery, and Znya was her normal, eerie-beautiful self. A handsome couple, and a lavish ceremony.

After the vows, came the feast. Rose and Jack were sat beside each other at the far end of the royal table, overlooking several smaller tables which seated the distant relatives of the Blackburn family, and also Znya's scant handful of staff, Cartwright included. It had long occurred to Rose that Znya's staff were a ghostly bunch, in that they were undeniably _there_, but also not, somehow. She saw them bustling around High Keep from time to time, but besides exchanging a few words with Cartwright, she'd never spoken to any of them. They didn't seem to be quite human. Silent shadows, skulking around High Keep, carrying out their duties in near total silence.

The fathers of the bride and groom were sat a little ways along the table.

"Poor Doctor," Rose laughed, "stuck with that Sinclair git as company."

"I know, right." Jack agreed, helping himself to not one, nor two, but three chicken legs, garnishing the meat with some sodden lettuce which was probably picked the previous summer.

Rose necked her strawberry wine and rose (pun intended) to her feet, holding up the hem of the revolting burgundy dress she was asked to wear for the occasion. "I'll be back," she told Jack, "nature calls."

"Sure." Jack said distantly, taking a huge bite from his first chicken drumstick. He was gazing thoughtfully at a nearby young man in armour, and Rose thought probably he might be in luck - the chap appeared a trifle camp, and she wondered whether Jack might not be bringing him back to High Keep after the feast.

She traipsed past the Doctor, who's boredom was plain for the world to see, as Sinclair Blackburn talked incessantly at him. The man appeared to be quite drunk, slurring his words and making wild hand gestures, coming out with all manner of expletives that didn't at all befit such an occasion as this. Farther along, she passed Znya and Arthur, who were sat in silence. Znya looked aloof and at ease, whereas Arthur was fiddling nervously with the hem of his sleeve, trying and failing to strike up a conversation which lasted any longer than a few words. The happy couple indeed. Making each other miserable, bored and awkward from this day until their last. Poor sods.

The Tardis was parked at the back of the festival, tucked between two large oak trees. She let herself in, and closed the door behind her, grateful as always to shut out the grunge and hardships of the year 1500.

"How are you?" she asked the Tardis, resting her hand briefly on the cold console. "Missing the Doctor, I suppose?"

She might have imagined what happened just then, but for a moment she was sure she heard a faint rumble from deep down in the engines. A reply? But that couldn't be so. Right?

"I guess you can see the truth already, can't you?" she continued, "who Znya is, what she wants with the Doctor. I guess you can see everything, right? All that is, all that was, and all that ever could be...well, I promise you - if Znya isn't really his daughter, we'll get to the bottom of it. I promise you."

She made to leave the console room and make for the toilets, but her heart gave a toxic lurch of pure terror, as a small figure emerged from the shadowy corner of the chamber.

"You should be careful, you know."

Rose swallowed nervously, as the figure stepped into the light. It was a woman. A pretty, short woman with dark skin and mousy hair, her round face complimented by two enormous marble eyes. Her nose was a funny thing, slightly upturned, and delightfully petite.

"Who are you?" Rose gaped. "How'd you get in here?"

"I don't know who I am," the woman said sadly, "Nor where I am, not really. But I was born to save the Doctor. I don't think he even knows I exist, truth be told."

"Um..." Rose trailed off, backing slightly away from the woman, who was walking slowly towards her. She wore a leather jacket and a miniskirt, with black tights and dainty high heels.

"Don't provoke her," the woman said.

"Who?" Rose demanded.

"The woman in red! She's one dangerous minx to cross, Rose Tyler! She'll eat you alive and grind your bones to make her bread, if ever she thinks for a moment that your on to her! _Tread carefully!"_

"Who is she?" Rose whispered.

The woman shook her head. "Is the wrong question. Forget about her. Just get him away from here, Rose! Get the Doctor out of Callow's Reach, and make sure he never looks back. She wants him, you know. She wants him _so badly..._she almost has him."

"Then what do I do?" Rose demanded, her heart thumping. "Tell me how to stop her!"

"No time!" the woman exclaimed. "This universe is an echo to me now. I was you, once. I stood in your shoes, at his side...or maybe that's yet to come. I don't know...and I don't suppose it much matters either way. Now, _goodbye!"_

"Wait!" Rose half-screamed, "you can't tell me all this, then just bugger off! Who are ya? How'd you get in here?_ What do I do?"_

"You'll have to ring around the roses, with a pocket full of poses."

And with a flash of blue light, she was gone, leaving Rose standing thunderstruck in her wake.


	15. The Happy(ish) Couple

**_Sinclair_**

"I like her not!"

Sinclair put his knife and fork together on the plate, and wiped his mouth with a soiled handkerchief. "What?"

"I like her not!" Arthur repeated, his voice a grating reedy whine. "I like her not at all, father!"

"Nobody is asking you to like her, boy!" Sinclair exclaimed, snapping his fingers for his cup-bearer, who refilled his goblet and took his empty plate. "I don't care whether you love her, like her, or wish her dead each second you spend with her! All I ask is you get the bitch pregnant. Affection is immaterial."

"Not to me, sir," Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, "I have to spend hours of my time with this woman, and it's making me miserable."

Sinclair rolled his eyes. "All right. What is it that's troubling you so?"

"She mocks me!"

"She does?"

"Yes! We seldom even speak, yet she belittles me at every turn! She corrected my grammar the other day, father!"

"As is her right," Sinclair shrugged, "she's a damned sight more intelligent than you, boy. Surely you've noticed that?"

"I like that not!" Arthur exclaimed unhappily.

"Then hurry up, and get the harlot pregnant! Once we've got an heir out of her, you need not even live with her. Now that Callow's Reach is beyond our grasp, the best we can sponge from this embarrassing mess is a healthy male heir. With luck, she'll die birthing him."

"And a slim chance an heir is, too." Arthur said sheepishly.

Sinclair's eyes narrowed. "Don't you _dare_ tell me you've yet to bed her..."

Arthur looked down at his feet, his voice a low quaver. "Only a little." he said. "Twice...twice, in as many weeks."

"For the love of..." Sinclair downed his drink, and beckoned more from the cupbearer.

"We've established that Znya is of greater intellect than you," he snapped, "that a woman is always lesser of brain than a man, is naught but a fallacy. A myth. I've seen enough of the world to know that. But I shall tell you one thing which is undeniably true - you possess greater strength and size than she, by a large margin."

"Of course!" Arthur agreed, holding his head a little higher up. "I am magnificent of body, father! Everyone says so!"

Sinclair cringed into his wine, but nodded all the same. "Exactly so! Now, listen to me...we can't _take_ Callow's Reach. The warden's "contract" put paid to those plans. Any court of the law, in any realm of the land, would look at that wretched document and advise us as such. You possess no rights over the blasted place. You have no authority there. This bastard Doctor has kept all of that for himself, and his foul daughter. _But..."_

He took a smacking gulp of his wine, and smiled grimly. _"But..._you can still teach this woman to respect you."

"How's that?"

"If she corrects you, then strike her. If she taunts you, then beat her. If she refuses to bed you, boy, then you do _whatever it takes_ to get an heir out of her."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "I don't think I could do that, father. I...I don't."

Sinclair got to his feet and swerved around the table to stand by his son. "Listen, boy." he put his arm around his son's shoulders and guided him to the dining hall window. "Look out here, and tell me what you see."

Arthur took in the view and then looked back to Sinclair, confused. "Why, the Blackforte, father."

_"Yes. _My great grandfather took this castle, and it's been in the family ever since. Generations of the lowly class have bowed to our house. D'you think we achieved that on account of our kindness, or our principles?"

"No." Arthur conceded.

"No, of course we didn't. There is room for compassion in times of peace, and stability, but it does not do to follow one's conscience in graver times, my boy. You must understand this, which your brother never did. Protect and serve the interests of those who have wealth, and cast those who have not into the dirt. When a foe strikes you tenfold, strike him back a hundredfold! Do _whatever it takes_ to advance the cause of your house and family! That is how you build a dynasty, Arthur."

Arthur nodded, his gormless face betraying a mind which was still struggling with the longer words in Sinclair's grim speech.

"Go. Ride back to Callow's Reach tonight, and _bed_ that strumpet. Don't give her a say."

* * *

**_Arthur_**

"I should like it," Arthur said later that night, heart hammering, as soon as Znya joined him in their chamber, "if you'll come to bed with me tonight."

"Would you?" Znya replied, that horrible smirk tugging at the sides of her red-smeared lips. "Oh no, beloved husband. I am far too tired tonight."

They were sat alone in the chamber they shared, in a small turret of Callow's Reach. Znya had yet to loosen a scrap of clothing, and regarded Arthur's naked body with little more than contempt, not showing so much a vague interest.

Arthur blinked. "I...I am _set_ on you coming to bed with me tonight! I shall give you fifteen minutes to be ready, no less." he hated how pathetic his voice sounded.

"Fewer."

"Uh?"

"Fifteen minutes, no _fewer."_

"You can't talk to me that way!" Arthur quavered, rising shakily to his feet.

"Oh, pumpkin," Znya cooed, "I meant no offence. But I'm afraid my joining you abed tonight is quite out of the question. I shall see you in the morn. Perhaps tomorrow evening, we shall."

She made to bustle past him to her wash chamber, but he grabbed her arm, the slippery silk of her red tunic pleasant in his hand.

"You _will_ come to bed."

"You _will_ let go of arm."

With his father's words of wisdom (or the opposite thereof) still ringing in his ears, Arthur tightened his powerful, vice-like grip on his beloved's arm, and attempted to pull her to the bed.

And no sooner had he done that, he saw her face change.

Her eyes, startling blue, flashed a horrific inky black, and her lips curled back into her fleshy pink gums, revealing a row of brown razors in place of her teeth. She opened her mouth, and Arthur's scream was drowned out by a ghastly, otherworldly hiss which pierced his ears and sent jolts of agony burrowing into whatever counted for his brain. Her breath was hot and foul, a stench of rotten garlic and age-old meat. He released her arm, and she seized him by the throat, lifting him bodily from the floor and tossing him into the bed.

_"Keep away!"_ she barked in a deep, growling voice, before returning to her usual, almost-beautiful self. Her eyes regained their pretty blue centres, and her teeth were square, and milky white.

"My beloved!" she sang in her normal high voice, "Goodness! I think you've suffered a nightmare!"

He swallowed. "W...what?"

"I have just come in, to find you thrashing about and crying on the bed! My poor husband! Are you quite well?"

"That wasn't a nightmare," he breathed, his every nerve and tendon aflame with fright, "wasn't! I...I..."

"Would you like to bed?" she asked, her face a picture of concern. "You seem so dreadfully distressed! A night of passion might"-

_-"No!" _He staggered off the bed and pressed himself to the wall, shuffling closer to the door. "No..." and he ran screaming from the bedchamber, as fast as his tremoring legs could carry him.


	16. The Rage of a Time Lord

**_Rose_**

It was enough.

After only two weeks of marriage, Arthur Blackburn had fled from Callow's Reach, butt naked and screaming all manner of things, incoherently babbling of monsters, snarks, and all manner of nasties. Znya claimed he'd stumbled across the spider's chamber, but Rose couldn't see how that could be so; since her and Jack's little expedition to that terrible place, it had been kept locked, and only Znya held the key.

Whilst it proved nothing, it was _weird. _Weird enough so that she and Jack finally resolved to air their concerns to the Doctor.

Znya had rode alone to the Blackforte, in pursuit of her runaway streaker of a husband, leaving she, Jack and the Doctor to enjoy lunch together, a rare thing it was these days.

Say what you will of Jack, but he wasn't a shy man. He was comfortable in confrontation, happy to hold difficult conversations. But for this, Rose might even have chickened out.

"Look, Doctor," he drawled, smiling encouragingly at Rose, "things are bothering us."

The Doctor frowned. "Eh?" he demanded incredulously, "whassup? 'Eck, I know this business with Arthur's a shame, but..."

"It's not just that," Rose chimed, "it's a few things..."

His baby blue eyes bored into her own, and he nodded stiffly. "All right, go on. What's bothering ya?"

Taking a breath, Rose started from the beginning and didn't stop. She admitted, for the first time, how unnerving she found Znya. The Judoon, the very creatures who'd broken he and Romana up all those years ago, conveniently being here when they arrived. The weird woman she'd seen in the Tardis, and the dire warning she'd given her.

"And last night was the cherry on top," she finished. "Arthur running away like that...there's _something_ going on here, Doctor. Something that doesn't add up."

"Oh, is that right?" the Doctor replied coldly. "Do tell, I'm all ears. No pun intended. What, exactly, is wrong with it here?"

She and Jack exchanged a look.

"We don't know." Jack admitted. "Just something."

"Yeah, and you've waited to tell me all this for _what_ reason?"

"We couldn't be sure!" Jack replied sharply. "And we still can't. But last night made us as sure as we've been since gettin' here."

The Doctor glared at them both, pushing his plate of roast lamb and vegetables away. "Have ya both finished?" he barked.

They glanced nervously at each other. Rose felt more scared than ever she had in her life just then, as the cold waves of anger radiated from the Doctor like a bitter winter's wind. It was just like when she'd saved her father's life, all over again. The rage of a Time Lord was worse than any horror she'd encountered on their travels thus far, worse even than Daleks.

"I got another explanation fer this," the Doctor growled, "wanna hear it?"

Before waiting for an answer he turned to Rose. "I gave ya everything ya never had, didn't I? A life worth livin', the chance ter see the universe, an' your jealous coz' I've decided to settle down with me daughter, cutting you outta the equation. That's it, ain't it? Be honest."

"How dare you!" Rose gasped, rising to her feet, tears prickling her eyes. "I want to happy for you, Doctor! I wish that I was! I wish I trusted Znya with all my heart, I wish I felt happy here! I want to _so badly!_ For you! And I can't."

"Yeah, yeah," he turned to Jack, "and your just a hopeless case, ain't ya? Haven't got the restraint ta disagree with pretty lilttle Rose, 'm I right? I know what ya want from her, you mark me words. Well, 'ave her! Take her! Flamin' 'eck, if youse wanna go, then go! I'll drop you off someplace meself. But nothin' you say, nothin' ever, is gonna persuade me to leave here. It's where I belong. She's all I got!"

"She's not your daughter." Rose snapped, before she could help herself.

A deathly silence hung over the dining hall, and it lasted a full thirty seconds before the Doctor broke it, his voice murderous.

"Oh, yeah? The girl who's DNA matches mine, who knows all about what 'appened between me and Romana, ain't my daughter? You sure you wanna repeat that ridiculous statement?"

"I'll repeat it for her," Jack spat. "She ain't your daughter. I don't know who she is, but I know who she isn't."

The Doctor stood up, quivering with anger. "Great. Well, I think we're just about done 'ere. I'll come back in an hour, and when I do, you'll either apologize or be packed up for home." with that, he stormed out of the dining hall, brushing roughly past Cartwright, who's chosen that moment to return laden with desserts.

"My lord, my lady," he exclaimed, setting down the trifle and staring after the Doctor. "What troubles the warden?"

"I don't..." Rose swallowed her tears, and licked her lips. "I don't think that was the warden, Cartwright. I don't know who that was, but it wasn't the Doctor."


	17. And the Kindness

**_The Doctor_**

Needed to clear his head. And there was something that he'd wanted to do for ages now.

It was probably a terrible idea, but it was quite irresistible. He padded nervously up the spiral stairs into the tower, hearts hammering, half-wanting to turn round and flee, and half-wanting to break into a run right towards the locked chamber, which stood at the top of the stairs.

He stood before that door, and fingered the handle of his sonic screwdriver nervously, steadying his breath. It'd sense if he was scared, and that might scare it in turn. The last thing he wanted to do was scare it, lest it lash out at him.

He slowly extracted the screwdriver and pointed it at the lock, squeezing the button. With a thrill of adrenaline, he heard the lock open, and the door swung gently ajar. He took a few tentative steps towards it, and rested his hand on the wood. He smelled the farm-like aroma through the gap, and gagged slightly. Before he could change his mind, he pushed it open and stepped into the webbed room.

He gasped his awe as the blood red spider came scurrying down the web to meet him, it's body as thick as a car and it's legs spanning several feet. It clicked it's pincers menacingly, yet slowed down as it approached the Doctor and sensed him in it's head.

"How's it going, matey?" he whispered, gently raising his hand. "Are ya happy up here? I hope so. I'd like to recommend she lets you 'ave a little more freedom, you know. Would that I could. Can't be done, though. You'd be in danger out there. Peasants'd take one look at ya, and they'd flamin' well kill ya. Superstitious era, you know. They'd take you for a demon, not a living being."

The spider didn't reply. Fine - whilst all animals understood him when he spoke, it was a scant few who actually replied. Even when they did, their responses were rarely of interest. With dogs, it was always food._ Food, food! Feed me!_ Cats too. Indeed, that was all most animals thought about. But the spider blinked it's eight eyes slowly, and remained still as the Doctor edged closer, his outstretched hand shaking.

"So what are ya? Can't place the species. Heck, there's gotta be some relationship with the Racnoss, but I ain't got a clue other than that."

He held his breath as his palm finally came into contact with the spider, and it purred gently as he stroked the bristly spot above it's eyes.

"That's awright, ain't it? No need to be scared. Sorry about me mates the other day, bursting in on ya like that. You must have been terrified."

His face darkened. "My mates. Ha. I ain't so sure after tonight, truth be told..."

The spider rubbed itself against the Doctor's palm, enjoying the attention, it's deathly pincers sitting still in their sockets.

"Wish I had some food for ya," he continued, giving it a gentle scratch with his fingers. "Might be that I'll come back tomorrow, perhaps with a few leftovers from dinner. Would ya like that?"

The spider blinked.

"It's a date, then," he grinned. Then he drew his hand away. "Are you the last of your kind, little lady?"

Blink.

"Thought so. Me too. I saw it in your eyes. The sadness. The loneliness. I know it when I see it, coz I was all alone too. Fer a time. Meeting Znya changed that...but I'll tell ya one thing for sure...it gets better. I promise you, it gets better. Your not alone, darlin'. There's folk who care about you living here, and a woman who I reckon must love ya."

The spider stamped it's eight legs impatiently, and the Doctor sensed it wanted another fuss. He rested his hands on it's head, and it rubbed itself against his skin lovingly.

"Where did Romana get yer from?" he pondered. "Do you even remember? Or was you an egg?"

Blink.

"Hmm...well, I best get back ter the grindstone. I'll come back with a few treats tomorrow. How's that?"

The spider blinked, and turned around, scurrying back up the web from whence it came, nestling into a spot high up near the ceiling.

He grinned, and took his leave, taking care to lock the door behind him.


	18. The Demand

**_The Doctor_**

"You've never mentioned these people," he exclaimed, reading the message for the fourteenth time. "Why not?"

Znya shrugged a shoulder. "I scarcely thought it necessary. They were always so far away, such a distant threat...I cannot imagine how they've come to be here so quickly. I'd have expected to hear about them being on the move."

"Who are they?" Rose whispered.

"Bolton's riders," Znya replied. "They're a rider gang, from up north. Led by a nasty piece of work, name of Sandon Bolton."

"How many do they number?" the Doctor asked.

"Oh...two-hundred? Less? I'm not sure. But it's not the size of their force which worries me, father. It's the calibre of the fighters, and moreover, the hardware they possess."

"Go on."

"Well, this is secondhand knowledge, yet I'd think it accurate. Word goes that each man has a rifle, and scimitar at his hilt. Scimitars are bad news, worse even than swords."

"How's that?"

"The injuries they cause," Znya shuddered, "a stab wound, I can stomach. I can observe that with no qualms, even treat it if I have too. But slashes from a scimitar? Those, I cannot bear."

Jack whistled. "We's in trouble, then. Reckon it's worth just paying up?"

Znya scoffed. "I don't have...what were they demanding again?"

"Two-thousand shillings, no less," the Doctor replied, "but here, I could always take a little trip, give the Tardis a good run. Reckon I could get me hands on two-thousand shillings, from somewhere or other."

"I think not." Zyna replied tartly. "Could be that we pay up, and they let us be, true to their word. Could equally be that we pay up, and they attack regardless, killing all of us. Want to take the risk?"

The Doctor shrugged.

"Moreover," she said, "even if they did let us be, we'd be forever known as a house who surrenders, a house who pays any demand bestowed on it, for fear of shedding or spilling a little blood. A house such as that won't be around for long, Doctor. Even with a mind like yours' at the helm."

"Awright," he conceded, feeling faintly ashamed that the prospect of a battle should stir such dirty excitement in him. "Now, they say they're camped the other side of Callow's Wood...how long will it take 'em to get here, when they realize there ain't no money forthcoming?"

Znya grimaced. "A day? Not even? We've got no time to lose, my lords. I suggest we make a start."

"Damn straight." the Doctor nodded gravely, turning to Jack. "You." he growled rudely, staring daggers into the man. "Your good at fighting, right? And since your apparently staying here, you can make yourself useful."

"Right, whatever." he replied unhelpfully.

The Doctor groaned. "Now, look 'ere," he snapped, glaring at Jack and Rose. "I don't want to send either of you home - but I surely shall, if you don't buck up, the pair of ya!" Ever since "apologizing" for their outburst the other day, his two friends had been as sullen and solitary as the Weeping Angels of old, faces carved of stone, discontent oozing from their every pore. Despite that, he hadn't the heart in him to force them home.

"All right, Doc," Jack nodded, "I'll take charge of the defences. Sure. Lady Znya, how we doing for men and arms?"

"Oh, badly," she laughed humorlessly, loosening the red ruffle of her collar. "Very badly indeed. Why, there's Cartwright and the servants based in the castle, a couple of guards too. Then there's the villagers of course...I haven't done a count for many a month, but I think they number around seventy. Unless the pox took any of them over winter, which I admit is a possibility."

"So in other words, we ain't even got a hundred?" Jack gritted his teeth.

"Probably not, no. _But,_" she turned to her silent sentinel of a husband, who jumped violently in his seat when she spoke. Seeing the spider had troubled the useless sap, right enough. He was an insipid little wart before he stumbled upon the tower, and now he was an insipid _nervy_ little wart.

"Yes, my l-love?" he stammered.

"Write to the Blackforte immediately," she told him, "tell your lord father to send us as many men as he can, and whatever weapons and supplies he may spare."

"Yeah...yeah, I'll do that." Arthur nodded vigorously.

"Well, good. And it's probably worth pointing out to him that if Callow's Reach falls, the Bolton riders will surely turn their sights on the Blackforte thereafter."

"Very good." He climbed to his feet, bumping his knee on the edge of the table as he practically ran from the dining hall.

"Poor kid," she said sympathetically. "I can only assume Paula came close to killing him, having left him in such a bad place up here." she tapped the side of her head.

"Aye," the Doctor nodded. "Speaking of Paula...reckon we oughta wheel her out?"

Znya stared at him. "Why would we do that?"

"Because," Rose said sweetly, her voice poisoned honey, "you said Paula was there to protect you, if the need ever arose. You told us that Romana gave you her to keep you safe. Remember?"

Hot anger bubbled in the Doctor's temples. "Careful, Rose." he hissed, and she shot him a disgusting look in reply. Somewhere at the very back of his brilliant mind, he distinctly recalled Znya saying precisely this, and the dimmest flicker of something resembling suspicion passed briefly through his head, almost like a dream. But it didn't last.

"So I did," Znya smiled, and all was right in the world. "And your right, that's what she's for...but not for small-fry like this. Mother gave her to me in the event of an alien invasion. Not a jumped up highwayman, throwing his weight around."

"Why didn't you use her to be rid of the Judoon, then?" Was Rose's reply.

"Enough!" the Doctor slammed his fist on the tabletop. "I can't have this constant flamin' prattlin'!" he glared at Rose. "Now, I'm going to draw up our battle plan, and I ain't gonna be disturbed. I need hardly mention that if I get this wrong, we're all dead as mutton."


	19. Eve of War

**_Rose_**

"You all right?" she asked, padding into the Doctor's study that evening.

"Never better." he replied, without looking up. "Here, come and look."

She and Jack strolled over to a large sketch of Callow's Reach, upon which the Doctor had crudely drawn defensive lines and trenches. "I reckon we might be fine," he said brightly. "See? Our's ain't the bigger force, even with Blackburn's men, but we've got us the better position. It'll be an 'ard castle to breach, you mark me words. We might even live!"

"Great," Rose laughed.

The Doctor sighed, and finally looked her in the eye. "I guess this is the last chance, then. I promised ya're mother I'd look after yer. I never promised I could keep you safe, but I pledged to do me damnest to make sure of it. If you wanna get out of here, now's the time."

"I'm not leaving you." she replied immediately. "Never."

He smiled at her, for the first time in a long time. "Thanks. And I'm sorry too - about how I've been, about how I treated ya both. I know you worry about me. I appreciate it, at that. All that stuff you said, you said it coz you've got nout but me own interests at heart. I know it."

"Put it here, Doctor." Jack held out his hand, but dragged the Doctor into a kiss when he went to shake it. "Haha! Every time!"

"Flamin' nutter," the Doctor grumbled, breaking free and embracing Rose. She kept the smile resolutely plastered to her face, but recoiled inwardly. She'd hugged the Doctor before, but now it was like hugging a stranger. She realized just then how much he'd changed since coming here, how _different_ he was now.

He hadn't changed - he'd _been_ changed.

There was a commotion outside, and they looked out of the window to see the villagers of Callow's reach digging trenches, and constructing spike-walls facing the pitch-dark woods down yonder. Had the Bolton riders already received their reply, declining the demand of payment? And if so, were they already on their way? Were they to wait until tomorrow before marching, or were they edging closer this very moment, scurrying through those woods, coming ever nearer? Rose shivered.

"Two hundred men," she grimaced. "Versus that rabble outside. Ain't looking _wonderful,_ is it?"

The Doctor chuckled. "I've seen better odds." he admitted. "Much better, to be fair."

They fell silent, basking in the gentle warmth of the room. "Drinks?" Jack said brightly.

"Count me in." Rose exclaimed.

"Yeah, go on." the Doctor pulled up two more chairs, and they sat down surrounding his desk, Jack serving three glasses of wine.

"So..." the Doc said, accepting his glass. "I'm guessing we've got a few hours at best, and it could be that those hours are our last. How would you spend 'em, if you could do anything at all?"

Rose chuckled. _What_ a question. "I suppose I'd...crikey, I don't know...I suppose I wouldn't wanna know about it. I'd want to plod along like normal, see my family, and die surrounded by everyone who loves me."

"Sweet." the Doctor raised his glass. "Jack - final hours. What would you do, if you could do anything?"

"Unspeakably naughty things." Jack winked.

The Doctor shivered, but retained his silence.

"Don't think your getting away without answering!" Rose told him sternly. "You had us both answer, now you bloody well answer!"

"I guess..." he finished his wine, and poured a new glass. "I guess I'd like to know that I was going for a good cause. I'd like ter know that folk would be fine after I'm gone, or perhaps even better off. Yeah. Call me an egotist all ya like, but there's me honest answer. I'd like ta go saving others. And I've always kind of assumed that _will_ be how I go, someday."

"I like that." Jack got to his feet. "I propose a toast, then. Here's to going out in style!" they clinked glasses and drank.

* * *

They didn't stop drinking for quite a while...

* * *

Rose sighed and slid back against the backrest of her cushionless wooden seat, her bottom and lower back perfectly numb. "How about a song?" she slurred, her head spinning, and her extremities rather numb.

_"Singing?"_ the Doctor laughed. "You make me sing a song, and tomorrow morning you'll be begging for that scimitar."

They had a good laugh at that, a better laugh that was entirely justified of it. Such are the inglorious joys of drinking.

"I know one," Jack said. "The Valleys of Home. If I sing this, you've gotta promise not to laugh."

"Sure." Rose promised.

"Course!" the Doctor slurred.

"Well, okay." Jack cleared his throat. "Hope you like it. It's about where I grew up."

He took a breath. _"Fa-aa-r away, in the"-_

-Rose and the Doctor laughed.

He glared at them.

"Sorry. Go on."

He scoffed. "Laugh again, and you can forget it."

"We won't."

"Right." he took it from the top.

_"Far away, in the valleys of old._

_The places we once called our home..._

_We danced and we jived, and we laughed in the glades._

_The places we all loved the most._

_The trees stood so tall, the wind sang it's song._

_The sun beaming down on us ghosts..."_

Rose stared at Jack as he sung, the quality of his voice startling her right out of her stupor.

"That was...beautiful." she told him once he'd finished, wiping a tear from her eyes.

"Yeah." the Doctor muttered, his eyes rather glassy.

"Thanks." Jack said, smiling as he stared out of the window. "I hate to kill the mood, but I guess I should bring this up..."

"What?"

"The Bolton riders are outside."

* * *

**Note: Just to say, the next chapter (titled The Battle of Callow's Reach) is going to be a lot longer than any so far, and it might take me a little longer to write. There'll be some answers in it too. :) **


	20. The Battle of Callow's Reach

_**The Doctor**_

Rose and Jack joined Znya atop the battlements, and observed the shadowy cluster of burly men formed at the tree line, only their armored outlines visible.

"Why do they wait?" Znya hissed, glaring down at them and snarling.

"I dunno," the Doctor said, but even as he spoke, a sole figure stepped forward from the crowd, and marched across open field towards the High Keep.

"Should I?" Jack raised his pistol, but the Doctor gently pushed his arm down.

"Not yet."

The man stopped a halfways between his army and the castle. "I'll speak to the warden of Callow's Reach!" he called up. "And only he - he's the real power here, not his bitch daughter. Warden! Come! Let's cut out the middle men, and speak directly, what d'you say?"

"What is there ter say, Mr. Bolton?" the Doctor called down. "Unless you've come 'ere to surrender ya forces, then I ain't seeing much point in having this conversation."

Sandon Bolton's laugh was like ice, rolling bitterly up the hill towards the castle. "Come, warden...this isn't a battle you can win. My men and arms are the best in the realm! You're fighting a losing cause, but I offer you now the closest to victory you'll ever get! Come down here! Kneel before me, your daughter too, and surrender Callow's Reach to us. We'll take our fair share of your gold, your food and your peasants too. The men for slaves, the women for pleasure. But after that, we'll let you be. There's no point spilling bloodshed when it can be avoided, my friends - desperate though my men are for battle, the every one of them sees the honour in mercy, and the good in peace."

"Do you believe him?" Rose muttered.

"On the fence." the Doctor whispered back. "But even if he's telling the truth, those are some nasty damned conditions he's imposing."

"Aye," Znya hissed, her pale face thunderous. "Let me issue the reply. Mr. Harkness, I wonder if I could borrow that?"

She nodded at his gun, and he passed it over with a little reluctance. She gripped it by the handle, considered it briefly, and then stepped forward, brushing past the Doctor.

"Your quite wrong, Bolton," she called down, "for I am the real power here, of that I assure you. You wish for my reply?"

"Why then yes, I do my lady."

"This is it."

She raised the pistol, and Bolton, a sharp man if ever there was one, leapt to the side as she fired. The Doctor heard him scream, and saw a dim cloud of blood erupt from the man's ankle, flooring him. If he hadn't jumped aside, the bullet would have slugged him right in the gut.

Despite his agony, Bolton laughed again. "I see," he groaned weakly, his voice murderous, "if that's your decision, then there is nothing further to say...on your own heads be it."

_"Pig!"_ Znya started firing at him again, but the battlements suddenly exploded into gunfire, the rider's munitions smashing into the brickwork, sending gravel and grit flying all around them in eye watering clouds. The Doctor grabbed Rose and Znya and yanked them both undercover, whilst Jack reclaimed his gun and fired back, keeping himself as small a target as possible by crouching beneath the wall.

"He got away." he muttered. "And they're coming."

"Okay." the Doctor said, as they crawled from the battlements, keeping their heads low. "Then to coin a phrase, it's volcano day. Again."

"The three of you, get to the Tardis." Jack demanded, collaring Cartwright, who followed them down to the dining hall. "Get inside, and stay there. If we survive this, I'll knock four times. Otherwise, don't come out for anything."

"We can't leave you..." Rose muttered weakly. For an answer, Jack planted a kiss on her lips.

"Listen," he purred. "I no cuddly bear, despite what you think...despite how I seem. I've seen combat like you wouldn't know Rose, I've fought and survived scrapes you couldn't imagine. So has he," he nodded at the Doctor, "but he's got a job that's way more important than fighting. He's gotta keep you safe."

"Go." he hissed.

"Your a good man." the Doctor told him, unlocking the Tardis and pushing Znya and Rose inside.

"And that's a loada rubbish," he scoffed. "I'm doing what has to be done, no less. Now _go!"_

The Doctor shut the Tardis door with a clatter, leaving Jack and Cartwright alone.

* * *

**_Jack _**

"Attention, scum!" he called, pushing his way to the front of the unruly mob of terrified, stinking villagers. "This is your home! Them folk coming at us, they don't bring good tidings. What're you all gonna do about it?"

"Drive 'em out!" they echoed in unison.

_"I can't hear you!"_ Jack bellowed.

_"Drive them out!"_ they screamed.

"Damn straight! And if any of you die without hurting a man, I'll flaming well kill ya! Now, come on!"

With Cartwright at his side, Jack led the mob down the hill towards the Bolton riders, adrenaline coursing through his veins like the most potent of energy drinks, flooding his mind with excitement not fear, giving him speed and agility he'd never normally possessed. His blue coat flapped wildly behind him as he sprinted towards the foe, his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other.

The Bolton riders finally came into view, and one of them - a big, beefy man in steel plate, wielding a flintlock and a mace - was leading the pack. Jack shrugged. Might as well be him who draws the fist blood. With an expert flick of the wrist, he brought his gun up to face the fat man, and he fired without a second's hesitation. The man stopped dead in his tracks, looking bewildered, before crumpling onto the grass and lying still.

Jack rolled forwards on the lawn, and felt bullets fly above him, where his head had been moments before. The screams behind him told him that some of the peasants had been hit, but there was nothing he could do for them now. The armies met in a sickening, metallic clash of flesh and steel, sword grating against scimitar, explosions of gunpowder as flintlocks fired wildly, the most of them missing their targets by full feet.

_"Piss off!" _a young rider wielding two scimitars rushed at Jack, swinging his weapons over his head, trying to bring the vicious curved blade down in the centre of Jack's head, splitting his skull wide open. Jack shot him in the knee, and the man collapsed to the floor, screaming blue murder, right up until the moment Jack's sword went through the front of his neck, and came out the other side.

He backed away, and collided with another, turning sharply on his heel, sword at the ready. Only Cartwright. The butler's face was smeared with dirt, his hair wild. They nodded at each other, and broke away, each of them picking new targets. Jack took advantage of the dewy grass and slid down the hill, slipping between the feet of the enemy, and cutting two of their ankles out from under them. A gunshot singed his ears, as one of the fallen took a wild shot at him, and he felt the hot flash of the bullet travel past his ear, missing his face by less than an inch. He fired back, and his shot caught the man between the eyes, exposing skull and brain in a nasty mess of meaty trifle.

He regained his feet and stared wildly around the churned mess of the field, panting, tasting blood, his coat streaked with mud, the same mud that he felt clinging to his face and hair.

A petite young woman of Callow's Reach was acting without mercy, her slight build and quick reflexes too much for the cumbersome armored riders to handle. Jack moved to her, hacking down a rider who tried to block his path, his sword slicing clean through the man's belly.

"You good?" he breathed. The woman ignored him and moved deeper into the fray, joining several of Blackburn's men, who'd gotten into a tight, deathly scrum with a group of the riders. There was a wild battle-cry behind Jack, and he wheeled around just in time to sidestep a flying scimitar, which ought to have taken his head clean from his shoulders. The foe brought his heavy scimitar smashing into Jack's lighter longsword, the impact sending shock waves of pain through his wrist, so much so that he nearly dropped the sword. The ugly man cackled and brought his pistol up, with difficulty, to point at Jack's face. He never pulled the trigger; one of the villagers stabbed him through the head, the bloodied blade coming out in his eye socket. He gurgled and collapsed into Jack's arms.

Jack lowered him gently to the ground, and turned to the castle. _"Cannons!"_ he screamed._ "Bring 'em out!"_

"Cannons!" his nearby allies echoed, their cries rolling up the hill, reaching the engineers stationed there. With an earthquake rumble, six cannons let loose their munitions, which slammed into the back ranks of the Bolton riders. Jack laughed as no fewer than ten of them went down. He saw Sandon Bolton himself as far back as can be, standing right by the treeline of Callow's Wood, no doubt set on making a quick getaway if things turned sour. Or as quick a getaway as he could; the bullet wound in his ankle would slow him down plenty some, and if he fled, Jack would be after him.

He moved back into the depth of the fray, but stopped when a long shaft planted itself in the mud next to his foot. He stared at in in surprise, his brain taking a moment or two to register that it was an arrow.

_"Archers!"_

"Archers?" Cartwright's face turned chalky white, just moments before and arrow planted itself in his chest, the shaft vibrating back and forth in the hole it had dug into his flesh.

"Jack..." he whispered, blood spilling from his mouth.

Jack turned away from him, and saw a shaft flying through the air straight at him. He raised his sword, the arrow pinging off the blade and coming to rest in the grass, beside the corpse of one of Blackburn's men.

Another earthquake-like explosion shook him to his bones, as Znya's cannons fired again, mercifully taking out some of the archers. He saw Sandon again, and came to a quick, and doubtless stupid decision.

Tearing his way past a close-knit pair of riders, a bullet for one and a gutting for the other, he staggered down the hill towards Bolton, blindly swinging his sword. He fired off two more bullets, but then the pistol gave it's dreaded _click-click,_ the bullets all gone.

"Damn it!" he groaned, throwing it at one of the riders, a sweeping overarm throw, the pistol colliding with the side of the man's head. He looked around in shock and pain, Jack's sword tearing into his heart before he could lift a finger to protect himself.

The archers saw Jack coming and nocked their arrows. Ten of them, tipped vicious with jagged spikes, came flying at him. He rolled aside, and nine of them missed him; the tenth scraped the side of his abdomen, cutting a burning jagged line in the soft flesh of his belly.

"No!" Bolton commanded, as they hurriedly nocked fresh arrows. "He's mine!"

The injured Sandon Bolton stepped forward to face the injured Jack Harkness, each man swaying on his feet. Jack tried his utmost to ignore the sounds of battle behind him, focusing purely on Sandon, who bowed to him.

"Get stuffed." Jack spat, lunging at him with the sword. With practiced ease, Sandon brought his scimitar up and deflected the sword wildly off course, his fist slamming into Jack's nose, blood spurting from both nostrils.

"I didn't want this, sir." Sandon said pleasantly, limping around Jack menacingly. "I gave you _two_ chances to surrender. Two! That's a generosity seldom offered by the Bolton riders. And you chose to ignore us...who's to blame for the blood which runs this night?"

"The man who came here to spill it." Jack replied, slashing at Sandon Bolton, and managing to nick him on the arm with the very tip of his blade. Sandon feigned a high blow, and then ducked low, shoving the pommel of the scimitar into Jack's nether regions. Jack shook with gnawing pain and collapsed to Sandon's feet, heaving, a dull pain spreading into his belly and threatening vomit.

"A nice try," Sandon giggled, "and a good battle. But not good enough, alas. I think your losing, what do you say?"

He roughly grabbed Jack's head and forced it round to face the battle still raging on the field. With a sick pang, and a lump in his throat, Jack saw that the Bolton riders were indeed outnumbering them, and by a fair chalk too.

"You tried your best." Sandon said sympathetically, pressing his blade against Jack's throat.

Then the world turned upside down, as cannonballs smashed into the trees and the dirt all around Jack, flooring nine of the ten surviving archers, tossing grit and sod into the air in a suffocating cloud. His tender gut finally gave up, and he vomited his lunch all over the overturned mud, the bitter taste of vomit clinging to his tonsils.

Tempting though it was to collapse into that dirt and stay there, he had no time to lose. He pounced, throwing his sword into the chest of the sole standing archer, and grabbing Bolton by the shoulders, shoving him to the ground. Jack climbed on top of him, and hit him three times across the face. Sandon headbutted him in his already streaming nose, and it was all that Jack could to do hold on to him, even as Sandon grabbed his throat and rolled them over multiple times, a sickening twister which finally resulted in Jack being below him. He began to squeeze Jack's throat, and Jack felt his face throb and his eyes pop in their sockets as his breath was squeezed out of him.

Nevertheless, he smiled.

He extracted the dagger from the hilt at Sandon's hip, and Sandon reacted far too late, too late to stop Jack plunging it into the small of his back. The bastard groaned and collapsed atop Jack, panting. Jack rolled him off, and picked up the dagger, standing over Bolton and shaking in his boots.

He was about to strike the killer blow, when he noticed something odd.

Beneath the chain mail that Sandon was wearing, he spied something red at his collar, something which was neither flesh nor blood, yet something that looked all too familiar, something that he'd seen countless times these past months.

And why was Sandon looking at him like this? A mortally wounded man, moments from his death, normally looked one of two ways; defiant, or terrified. Sandon Bolton looked neither of those things, and smiled up at Jack with a knowing leer, as though it had been he, Sandon, who had beaten Jack good and proper, defeated him utterly and completely, despite his being entirely at Jack's mercy now.

With a dry throat and a shaking hand, Jack pulled back the chain mail, and saw a revolting, frilly collar beneath.

A _red_ frilly collar.

Zyna's collar.

And far, far too late did Jack realize they'd been tricked.

_"The Doctor,"_ he breathed, plunging the knife into Sandon and then sprinting up the hill back towards High Keep, fighting like a madman to get through the battle.

* * *

**_Rose_**

"It ain't looking good, is it?" she said, as they solemnly watched the battle unfolding on the scanner screen.

"Not spectacular, no." the Doctor admitted. "But I ain't gonna give up 'til I have to."

"If anything's happened to Jack..." Rose blinked back tears. "Doctor, I..."

"If he doesn't make it, but we do," Znya said quietly, "I promise you, his name will be remembered forevermore. The hero of Callow's Reach."

Just then, the door knocked four times.

"It's him!" Rose exclaimed, relief flooding through her in a wave. She skipped across the console room and wrenched the door open...falling straight into the arms of Sandon Bolton.

"Doctor!" she cried as he dragged her from the Tardis, holding her by the blonde locks of her hair.

"No!" she heard the Doctor exclaim, as he and Znya charged out after her, standing side by side. Znya extracted a small flintlock from her pocket (had she had that all along?) and pointed it at Rose and Sandon.

"Don't you dare!" Rose exclaimed, her heart lurching as she stared down the barrel of the gun.

"Yeah, _don't you dare!"_ Sandon mocked, giving Rose's hair a painful yank. He planted a kiss on her cheek. "Now listen here, you horrible lot. The battle is won. Your men and arms lie in ruins out there, and key among them, a handsome man in all blue. I watched his throat be cut, and it broke my heart! Broke my heart, that I couldn't have done it myself."

"No!" Rose wriggled furiously in his grip, tears spilling from her cheeks. Sandon shoved the hilt of a dagger into her temple, making the world spin fuzzy.

"Yes!" Bolton parroted, stroking her hair tenderly. "Now," he breathed, I'll just get me gone, and I'll take this little flower with me. The pair of you can stay here, and await my men...they're dying to meet you both."

Znya raised the gun again.

"Oh, put it away, you silly girl!" Sandon giggled. "You aim isn't true enough - you can't hit me without hitting the girl, and if you hit the girl, the good warden'll never forgive you."

"I can't, it's true," Znya turned the gun around in her hand, and held it by the barrel. "But I think the warden here might be a better shot."

The Doctor's face curled in horror. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't use that..."

Rose felt Sandon stiffen up behind him, and he pressed the knife to her throat. "You will _not_ use that!" he hissed. "Because if you do, I'll cut your little lady's throat! I'll cut it right out, you see if I don't!"

"And then you'll have no shield." Znya shot back. "And you'll be an easy shot."

The Doctor took the gun from Znya and gazed at it in horror. "I can't..." he muttered fervently. "I promised myself, I never would...never again...don't make me do this, Zyn...please don't."

Znya lifted the Doctor's arm, so that the gun was pointing at her and Sandon.

"I mean it!" Sandon said, his voice wobbly "You will not! No!"

And with a low sob, the Doctor pulled the trigger. Rose's every fiber screamed as the bullet shot past her by inches, and buried itself in Sandon's face. She felt his blood explode across her neck and shoulder, felt it go into her ear and soak her hair. She wrenched herself free as the rider fell unceremoniously to the flagstones, his face naught by a hole, and his blood running freely across the floor.

Rose turned to the Doctor. "T-thanks," she managed to mutter. But the Doctor didn't reply.

"Doctor?" she said sharply. "Doctor, what is it?"

Her best friend's face was blank, his mouth lolling open with red light dancing in his eyes. He stood stock still with the gun still pointing where Sandon had been standing. "What's happened to him?"

"Oh," Znya replied, a foul grin breaking out on her face. "He's killed a man. He's killed a man in cold blood, against his every instinct and belief...he's mine, now. The Time Lord is _mine!"_

"What..." Rose backed away from Znya, and screamed as the door to the dining hall burst open, to reveal a filthy and gravely injured Jack Harkness.

"It's a trap!" he cried. "Everything, it's a trap! We gotta get out of here! We"-

-he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the Doctor.

"You bitch!" he screamed, sprinting full-tilt at Znya with the bloodied dagger clutched over his head. Znya stamped her foot, and an invisible shock wave sent Jack sprawling to the floor.

"The Time Lord is mine!" she repeated shrilly. Rose stared in horror as the faceless form of Sandon Bolton regained it's feet, and slithered over to Znya's side. The side door to the dining hall burst open, to reveal Cartwright and all the silent servants who slithered in she shadows of High Keep. They stood around Znya, identical grins plastered to their faces.

"See me, then!" she cried, her servants and so-named foe melting into her, their flesh merging with her own, to form one hideous bubble of tissue. "See me as I am, see my true face once more!" The ball of flesh reshaped with a sickening grinding of bone and shifting flesh, changing colour, numerous legs sprouting from the sides, and vicious pincers emerging at the front, eight murderous eyes blinking their way into existence...

The spider stood before them, it's enormous jaws snapping, poisoned drool spilling onto the flagstones.

"Doctor!" Rose sobbed, but he stood stock still, gazing blankly into the distance. The spider brushed him gently aside with one great leg, and he moved without complaint.

_"You, little people."_ the spider snapped, in a gurgling voice. _"Are irrelevant! You don't know how long I've wanted to do this..."_

She scurried a them with lightning speed, pincers bearing down on them, a gurgling laugh booming from deep from within her.


	21. What He'd Want

**_Rose_**

_Rose..._

_Rose?_

_Ohhh, Rose?_

"Shut up," she groaned, her head thundering at her stomach churning. She felt hungover.

"Where are we?" she muttered, not daring to open her eyes for fear of worsening the pain.

"My humble abode," drawled an unpleasantly familiar voice, which wasn't Jack's.

Gritting her teeth she fluttered her eyelids open, and saw Jack smiling down at her, with the gloomy ghost of Sinclair Blackburn looming over his shoulder.

"Welcome back." Jack whispered.

"We should be dead." Rose managed, shutting her eyes and falling back against the pillow. _"Are_ we dead?"

"Not quite," Jack soothed. "Don't you remember?"

"I remember...there was the spider." she laughed humourlessly. "Znya _is_ the spider. And the spider _is_ Callow's Reach. We've been living in a damned web all this time, and we never even noticed. How could we not have noticed that?"

"You were bitten." Jack told her. "Remember?"

She strained, but what happened after the spider materialized was naught but a blur. She distinctly remembered it lunging at them, followed shortly thereafter by a surge of pain...and then? Now she really thought about it, she could picture a series of rushing corridors, vaguely recollected being carried across field, a pounding in her heart and a throbbing in her head.

"How did we get away?"

"I've carried heavier than you before," Jack said, "the spider was damned fast, no mistake, but it wasn't built for chasing people through the halls of a castle. It's too cumbersome. I got us out - just."

"Were you hurt?"

"Only in the battle," he said. "We're at the Blackforte now, I couldn't think where else to go."

She finally propped her eyes open, trying to ignore the sharp tang of the light against them. She was in an average sized bedchamber, sitting on one of those tilted back seats that were somewhere between chair and bed, with a thin blanket thrown over her.

"I feel sick".

"You gonna be sick?"

"Probably."

On cue, a large china vase was deposited before her, and Rose retched out all she'd eaten yesterday, and a healthy measure of stomach acid to boot. She wiped her mouth, and realized with faint disgust that the bowl was a chamber pot; she doubted it had been properly sterilized, what with them being in 1500, and with this in mind, she vomited a little more.

"She's got him." Jack whispered darkly. "She's got the Doctor. He was _gone_ last I saw of him...what happened, Rose?"

"I don't..." she groaned and slammed her fist against the bed in frustration.

"Amnesia." Sinclair Blackburn unhelpfully observed. "Come girl, think! Where's Arthur?"

"Who?"

"Arthur, girl, Arthur! My son! I don't give two hoots for your precious Warden, but"-

-"His name is the Doctor." she spat. "We're travellers in space and time, and we were _lured_ here by Znya. And..." it came flooding back. "She made him kill. She made him shoot a man, turned him into everything he hates...that one act, it was like a _key_ to his mind."

"I know what she is." Jack said. "I think."

"What?"

"A parasite," he said, "a dirty stinking parasite, and nothing more. Even the Toymaker wouldn't tangle with her. She could even be an aspect of the Toymaker for all I know."

"What does she want with the Doctor?"

"Huh. Things like that, they don't belong in our reality. They can't get comfortable here, not really, coz' every moment they spend here is effort. Just existing is a chore. But with a mind like his, she can do anything. The last of the Time Lords, a plaything in the hands of a jumped-up demon, ready to wreak havoc across reality on her behalf. He'll do whatever she commands now, mark my words. Destroy any planet, enslave any culture, make her the empress of the universe. He's lost. Every second he's spent in her presence has drained him, and making him kill yesterday was the final move. Checkmate."

"So what do we do?"

"We don't do anything." Jack said sternly. "Once your better, I take you home."

"I'm not leaving him!"

"Oh, but you are. I'm taking you home, because it's what he'd have done, and because it's what he'd want. And then I'm gonna come back and whoop some ass, probably getting killed in the process. I'll try my best to save him."


	22. A Three-Pronged Attack

_**Rose**_

Slept very badly that night, her dreams plagued with monster spiders and leering women in red, whilst the Doctor drifted ever farther from her, lost in the grips of some inter-dimensional fiend with mischief and horror on her mind.

Her?

Her?

It seemed scarcely appropriate to describe Znya as a her, for Znya was naught but one aspect of the spider, who divided it's form and encompassed the entire reach, multiple bodies, multiple parts of the same creature, men and women alike. Suppose too, the Judoon were just more of the same? Parts of the spider, flickering images displayed to make the ruse all the more convincing.

And just like that, dream changed...for the better.

Now she was travelling with the Doctor, like it used to be, and yet there was something new. His face was a shimmering blur, she supposed on account of his being taken over currently. And they carried right on, in her dream! They went everywhere! A new version of Earth, another trip to the Victorian days, and heck, even a different universe entirely! It was all a passing blur, as most dreams are, but it was her happiness which stuck in her mind after she woke. Her happiness and yes, her fear, but it was a good fear, as it always was! An adrenaline fueled blur of excitement, as they travelled, _on, on, on,_ next stop everywhere, past present and future all at once, and there was Mickey, travelling with them, and old friends too, happiness personified, over and over, and-

-and dawn came, snapping her wide awake.

* * *

"Morning." Jack said grimly over the breakfast table. "You all right?"

"Hmm." she said distantly, distracted.

"Well good news. It's recharged." he tapped his vortex manipulator, which had spent the whole night powering up for two trips - one to 2006, and one right back here, just for him.

"Ok." she said dimly, sitting down and picking up some brown bread, before tossing it back onto the plate. She wasn't hungry.

"I'll do my best," he told her, "and if it goes well, then we'll pick you up from home again. But if not - if we never come - then assume we're both dead."

"Both?"

"I'll kill him before I let that thing make him it's puppet. I wouldn't presume to know the Doctor well, even after all this time, but I think he'd prefer death over that."

"I'm sure he would," Rose agreed. "But I'm not going back."

Jack and Sinclair exchanged a glance. "Rose," he said testily. "We've been through this. I'm doing what he'd want me to do, I'm getting you safe, and then"-

-"I saw something last night," she interrupted.

"Saw what?"

"A dream?" Sinclair said snidely. "And what relevance is that?"

"I saw something in that dream," she repeated. "And I don't know for the life of me how I could have seen it, but see it I did. And d'you know something, I'm not sure if it will ever be real, but I sure as anything know that it _could_ be real. Someday."

She grabbed a goblet of barley wine and downed the lot, the sweet-savory tang making her wince.

"I'm coming with you," she told Jack, "it's just gonna happen. I'm not arguing about it anymore. We're gonna get the Doctor out of there...and then I'm gonna kill it."

"Rose..."

"I'm gonna kill that bitch," she insisted, gritting her teeth. "Or die trying. And that's it. D'you think I wanna go back to normal life, huh? I'd sooner die trying to save him, than spend my life wondering. And if you can't understand that, Jack, then there's no point in me explaining it to you. We leave this morning."

He swallowed. "Your making a mistake." he told her. "If there's anything of the Doctor left right now, he'll be hoping with all he's got that your safe. Don't do this to him, Rose...don't..."

_"This morning."_

Jack shut his baby blue eyes and let out a breath. "I will not force you home. I beg you to go...but I won't force you."

"Noted." Rose climbed back to her feet, and looked to Blackburn. "Thank you, my lord. For giving us sanctuary."

"Oh, there's no need to thank me, girl." Sinclair said, rising to his own feet. "We shall not be parting ways this morn."

"How's that?"

"I'm coming with you, and I'm bringing my knights. If there's any chance, any chance at all, that my son is alive, then I'm getting him out of there."

She and Jack glanced at each other, and exchanged a nervous smile.

"All right, folks," Jack drawled, a nervous laugh slipping from his mouth, "let's try."

"Save the Doctor, save Arthur, kill the spider." Rose raised a finger for each objective. "What say we each take one job? A three pronged attack?"

"A fine military mind!" Blackburn cackled. "Why, girl, if we live, perhaps you could stay on as my captain!"

"If we live," Rose said, "we'll be out of here. Back to our own time."

Blackburn frowned. "Your own time?"

"I come from the year 2005, my lord. And Jack here is from the 51st century."

Blackburn gaped. "And the warden?" he breathed.

"A different world entirely. He isn't even human."

"A snark? A howler?"

"Yes, if you like," Rose chuckled.

"So who wants which job?" Jack demanded. "I wouldn't mind me a shot at Znya, I'll tell you that."

"Get in line." Rose scoffed. "She's mine. You save the Doctor. I think you've got a better chance of success than me. Lord Blackburn, you try and save your son."

"Each of us will have two knights accompanying." Sinclair announced. He clapped his hands together. "And a mission is better executed than planned, so I've always said. Let's roll."

"You know what," Rose scoffed. "You might be the first Tudor lord to ever say_ that."_


	23. Into the Castle

_**Sinclair**_

"Too quiet," he said, as they led the army up the hill towards High Keep. It was true at that, for the village itself was deserted, with not even a hint of prior occupation. There were no clothes out to dry, no smouldering remains of fires, no chimneys asmoke. All was silent.

"You ain't wrong." Jack conceded, not taking his eyes from the castle. "Seems as if Znya isn't looking to stop us, huh? What can you infer from that?"

"Nothing pleasant." Sinclair said darkly. "She wants us to come. She knows we're here, and she wants us to come for her. She's confident in victory."

"Her confidence won't help her." Rose spat, pulling slightly ahead of Sinclair and Jack, who picked up their pace to keep in line with her. They stood before the enormous castle in silence, the armoured men of the Blackforte clinking up behind them. Sinclair noted also the distinct lack of any battlescars on the Earth, a puzzle when he had it on good authority that a skirmish had taken place here just hours before. But then of course, if Jack and Rose spoke truth, it had been a folly of a war, a battle fought between two opposite chess pieces moved by the same player, that player being the wretched demon that had his son - his only son - hostage in that castle up yonder.

Jack stepped forward. "We know your in there!" he called up. "Come out! Huh? I'll tell ya what, beautiful - release the Doctor, and Blackburn's son. Just you send 'em out here, unharmed, and we'll let you be. How does that work for ya?"

No answer.

"Znya," Jack said reasonably, "look petal, we shared a castle for a good long time, right? I like to think we got to know each other a little in that time! I mean, sure, your a giant spider from beyond the universe, but I ain't one to let silly things spoil a good relationship! I don't want to kill you. None of us do. Ain't that right, Rose?"

The blonde girl nodded falsely, through gritted teeth

"Lord Blackburn?"

"Murder is against my code, dear lady." Sinclair replied. "Death should be distributed as a last resort only, so my father taught me, and his before him."

_"And yet,"_ came a startling voice from somewhere within the castle, impossibly loud and dripping with malice, "you stand before me, killer of your own child. Did you know this, queerboy? Or you, bimbo? Dear Blackburn there killed his eldest to give me Arthur."

Sinclair felt his stomach drop and his cheeks go red as Rose and Jack stared at him, and he felt the eyes of his troops carving into his back. "Malicious lies, from the mouth of a demon itself!" he exclaimed.

High up on the battlements, a figure in red slithered into view. From this distance her features were but a blur, and all that could be seen was a chalk white face and hair to match, beneath the blood red garments. "You killed him. You killed him in cold blood, and I'm no liar, my lord. Thus when I say that you feel no remorse for it, I am telling the truth, am I not?"

"Lies!" Sinclair exclaimed weakly, sounding as feeble as a feather in a windstorm.

Zyna cackled. "You want your friends, gibbons? You want 'em? Come, then, and take them! All of you. Against me. How copy, guv-nah?"

Tears rolling his cheeks, Sinclair raised a hand. "Have at that damned place!" he screamed, as his men rushed past him with weapons in hand, storming further up the hill towards the gates of High Keep.

"This is it." Jack spat. "That thing doesn't leave here alive. Not for as long as we live."

"Which might not be long." Sinclair pointed out.

For an answer, Jack extracted the revolver from his pocket, and pulled the hammer down, keeping his finger (for now) staunchly away from the trigger.

"Well," he smirked. "Who wants to live forever, anyhow?"

And with Sinclair Blackburn on his left, Rose on his right, he marched up towards the castle, heart hammering and nerves tingling with excitement.

* * *

**Note - sorry about the delay between chapters. My old relic of a laptop gave up on me, so I've been waiting for the new one to arrive. There's only a few chapters left, but updates will come slightly less frequently as of now - I've got a lot of law coursework, and I'm also trying to twist my full sized novel into something resembling good. **


	24. The Halls of Horror

**_Jack_**

Couldn't work out for the life of him how he'd gotten separated from the others.

He had tumbled through the door of High Keep right behind Rose and Blackburn, who in turn entered no less than a second after the troops, and then...and then, what? He strained to remember, but could recall only the briefest moment of darkness, before the world span into focus and he was standing, alone in the dining hall where he'd spent so long these past months. The Tardis was there, and having a key in his possession, he longed to get in and stay there, perhaps even try to fly it himself to safety.

Once upon a time, he'd have done just that; in days gone by, he was naught but a common crook with a slim conscience and an attitude of staunch self-preservation, whatever the costs. He was never sure, as a young man, what he was looking for, what he was after...he craved life, yet wasted that life in the most disgraceful of manners, drinking with shysters and swindling people, breaking hearts everywhere he went.

But that wasn't him. Not any longer. As such, he walked right on past the Tardis, gun pointed out before him, treading softly on the flagstones.

"I know your here," he called out. "Come on! Come on out!"

No answer. But Jack knew where he was headed, and suspected that Rose and Blackburn too (wherever they were) would be making tracks for the same place; the turret chamber. The heart of the web.

As he left the dining hall, he was distracted by the sound of gentle tapping behind him. He looked, and saw Cartwright the butler standing beside the dining table, drumming his fingers obnoxiously against the surface.

"Pretty boy," he jeered.

"Cartwright." Jack smiled. "Except no...not Cartwright. Znya. You are her, she is you, and the whole damned lot of you are the spider, ain't it so?"

The butler didn't answer, immediately, but loosened his collar and revealed those hideous red frills around his neck. "Get out of here, son." he told him. "I only want the Time Lord. Goodness me, if Blackburn wants his son, that hapless pound of flesh back, he's welcome to him. But your to leave here at once, and if you do, I may yet let you all live."

"Now, you know I can't do that." Jack said, raising his revolver and aiming at Cartwright's heart. "And I don't believe you anyhow - you let us in here, and I'm damned if I believe you've got any plans on letting us out again."

Cartwright giggled and, grabbing both cheeks, twisted his head around a full 180, revealing not the back of his skull but instead Znya's face, from which flowing blonde hair sprouted, the servant's clothes melting into a red dress.

Jack fired and true enough, hit her right in the heart. Rather than fall, or show the slightest discomfort, she glided smoothly towards him, teeth like knives and arms outstretched. He turned on his heel and fled, out into the corridors, the sound of snarling and the gnashing of teeth hot on his heels.

* * *

**_Rose_**

Was each bit confused as to how she winded up alone in the castle, but kept her wits staunch and her fear under control, as best as she could. It occurred to her just then how very young she was, a mere nineteen years of age, perhaps twenty now (in the Tardis, it was hard to tell), but already facing such horrors as most people back home would never encounter for as long as they lived. It worried her, sometimes, how these things would effect her as an adult, assuming she lived long enough to reach proper adulthood, and all bets were off on that when one travels with the Doctor.

But just say she _wasn't_ horribly killed today, and just say she did live to be a woman? Would she grow up the better for her life with the Doctor? Would she grow to be brave, resourceful, determined to make a stand and do what was right in the circumstances? Or would it damage her? Would she be paranoid and unhinged, perhaps, her every nightmare haunted by the horrors she'd seen on her travels. Horrors such as Daleks, Slitheen in suits of human skin, and people trapped in gasmasks, forever seeking their mothers? Horrors such as being near burnt to death, holding her father as he died (a great honour, yet a horror nonetheless)? She didn't know.

She forced herself to stop thinking of it, and returned to the here and now, holding a curved sword which she had no idea how to use, the gloomy grey walls, all riddled with damp, pressing her from all sides, threatening to knock the breath right out of her and the courage along with it. She was, of course, headed for the tower, for there she supposed to find the spider, perhaps the Doctor too.

She turned a corner and found herself face to face with a Judoon, it's hideous Rhino's face glaring at her. On it's wrists and ankles were red cuffs, and it had a tuft of white hair on the very top of it's cranium.

_"Charge - trespass."_ it growled._ "Plead - guilty. Sentence, execution!"_

She ducked back around the corner, to safety, just as it fired it's gun, the laser smashing into the wall and crumbling the brickwork. With it's heavy footfalls pounding in her ears, she retreated the way she came and broke into a wild run.

* * *

**_Sinclair_**

Stood over the half-eaten corpses of all of his men, their limbs torn from torsos, their useless chainmail armour strewn in tiny links all over the chamber floor. This looked to be the chamber of the lady, where Znya would lay herself to sleep each night, where potentially she and Arthur had lain together. He shuddered at the thought, for if Znya was truthfully not of this world (and he had no reason to disbelieve that, having seen something faintly resembling her chew her way through his men like so much dead mutton), then Arthur might surely be father to some sort of monster. Whatever he'd seen had danced between blade and axe like a shadow, her feet scarcely touching the floor, seeming to obliterate each man with a simple prick of her finger, whilst he stood on hapless and watched.

But she didn't look like Znya now. Instead, the ruined form of his eldest, Henry Blackburn, stood before him, donning Zyna's hideous red dress which matched the gaping crimson wound in his neck, the gash that Sinclair himself had cut.

"Where's Arthur?" he demanded.

"Forget Arthur!" it whined in Henry's voice. "I'm still here father! I lived! Don't you see? Znya - wonderful woman, as she is - brought me back here to heal! Come with me, we'll look for Arthur together, if your so desperate to reunite."

"Your dead!" Sinclair exclaimed, stepping back as the thing which wasn't his son advanced on him.

"I understand." Henry assured him, lashing out and slapping the sword from Sinclair's hand, still coming towards him. "You had to kill me, for the good of the realm. I'll never forgive that. But I understand it. Oh, yes...but you _didn't_ kill me father, because I'm still here! I'm still here!" he grinned showing brown teeth, razor sharp like some monstrous bear, _"I'm still here!" _Dagger-like talons spouted from his fingertips. "_I'm still...heeeaaarree!"_

And like lightning, the spider ripped into him, teeth tearing into his shoulder, talons scrabbling at his throat, blood spurting everywhere, getting into Sinclair's eyes and blinding him, his screams of agony cut into gurgling mumbles by the blood clogging his throat.

His vision went first. And everything else followed shortly thereafter.


	25. Howling Multiverse

**_Us_**

_We have the Doctor now. He's ours. He sits with us now, in the very heart of our web, his brain intact but his mind so far astray, lost in the howling multiverse through which we flew to come here, or rather through which we were thrown, discarded by the Toymaker in a fit of tantrum which was quite unbecoming we thought, and didn't hesitate to tell him so. He didn't take it well, and would have broken us, but for our infallible instincts for life, or as close to life as ever we've been able to come. _

_Where once we were the playthings, the mere instruments of entertainment in the Toymaker's box, now it is we who play the games, and the universe, this paltry little corner of reality, our toy. But it is ever a large toy, and our presence here is feeble and weak, so asunder we have become from the forces of reality we know and trust, the laws of physics that we belong to. To enjoy ourselves we need a vessel, and what finer vessel could there ever be than a Time Lord, the last of so, the individual who prides himself on being the last of his race. Yes, prides. It saddens him so, his heart yearns for his people, yet still the shameful truth is there, his pride and bittersweet smugness, he, the last man standing, the sole survivor. It makes him feel important, as it should, for he doesn't yet know just how untrue it to be._

_Gallifrey is lost, not gone, and he is no more a regular Time Lord than the founding fathers, Omega, Rassilon and the like. We've met with each of them, and spoken to them too, and discovered that probably we liked The Other the best of all. The Other, The Timeless Child, a creature of darkness and chaos, heartless and cruel, an intergalactic fiend who enforces the rules of the Time Lords upon those who neither asked for them, nor benefit under them...so callous was this individual, the Time Lords eventually revoked his licence to kill, stripping him of body and trapping his soul, to die, in the body of a fledgling Time Lord, a normal Gallifreyan whom was supposed to live and die as host of the Timeless Child, never knowing the foulness he housed._

_But the Timeless Child just bounced back, and now that Time Lord lives as the Doctor, based on the original, a reincarnation of the darkest evil, turned almost good with grief, if good is the right word for him. _

_The Doctor is what came before, you see, or perhaps what came before somehow came from him. He visited the Toymaker twice you know, and perhaps in that first time, as a youngster, he developed something, a super Time-Lord based on himself, which bled through into reality and created the society into which he was born, the ultimate and beautiful paradox._

_All we really know of him - or need to know, and have any interest in knowing - is that he suits our cause just fine._

_His friends are coming now, and we welcome them with open arms. They can't kill us, and won't, though it's true to say that whatever walks the world, and can kill, is capable of being killed in turn. But humanity is no match for us, for we can bend their minds to our will like mere play dough in the hands of a toddler, toddlers like those which the Toymaker would take at will, feasting on the fear of those who remained behind. _

_So we thought. So we thought...once._

_Could it be that we miscalculated, just somewhat? Perhaps it's fair, even true, to admit that letting the humans reenter Callow's Reach, let alone High Keep, was rather overplaying out hand? Blackburn and his men are gone, and their dispatch was each bit as easy as it ought to have been. Arthur Sinclair died too, for through our eyes he saw the death of his father, and the shock of it hath fried his brain on the spot. He lies dead, now, resting beside the Doctor in the folds of our silks._

_But the pretty boy and the blonde, they fight on. We've yet to bring them to harm, try though we have, and now they run free through the bowels of our palace, searching desperately for both each other, and for us in turn. _

* * *

**_Rose_**

With the footfalls of the Judoon heavy behind her, it was no small relief to round a corner straight into Jack Harkness himself.

"About turn!" he cried.

"Not a chance!" she exclaimed. "There's Judoon!"

"Ach," he grimaced. "And I'm being chased by Little Miss Znya herself."

Rose grabbed him by the arm and they cut off down a small passageway which was tucked snug between the grey walls, a portrait of some old white haired man on one side, and a figure rather akin to the Pied Piper on the other. It was especially gloomy down here on account of the lack of windows, and so narrow that they had to walk in single file. Rose chanced a look behind her and saw something following which was neither Znya nor Judoon. Rather, it was so many worms of blood-red, with poisonous white faces and venomous fangs, their eyes glowing red. They were sliding into the corridor right after Rose and Jack, slithering along the floor and walls, the ceiling too.

"Keep going!" she half-cried, pushing Jack in the small of his back to keep him at speed.

"D'you realise where we are?" he demanded, quickening into as close to a sprint as was possible in the confined space.

"Huh?"

"If I'm right, Rose," he drawled, "and I reckon I am, coz I know my way round spaceships pretty damned well...this sure looks like a ventilation shaft."

"What?" she spluttered, too flustered by the pursuing worms to think straight. "We're in a castle!"

"Are we?" he called back, "have we ever been?"

The walls were metal. The floors. The ceiling was metal too.

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"I dunno," he replied, "but vent shafts are sure a great way to get around, and I reckon whatever makes the corridors so damned hard to navigate ain't gonna work in here. We've gotta go up, Rose. Up."

"Up?"

"Up to the turret chamber. To the spider's lair. There we'll find the Doctor. Then we can end this."


	26. Who am I to Disagree?

**_Us_**

_The harder we looked for physical form, the further away it became._

_We are the intelligence, and this is our melody, a sad and morbid tale of strife for reality in a reality that neither asked for us nor has any real use for us. We are a jumble, a mesh, a vast and endless selection of ideas with only one idea; survival._

_The Time Lord represents a chance, for now his brain is carved with our initials, his every thought and feeling putty in our dreams, we hope to inhabit him and live on, perhaps enslaving an empire or two, perhaps more, a joyride of delight through time itself. _

_If only we were afforded the time, this could be so, though the Time Lord resists even now, little though he's aware of doing it. Worse yet, his friends have penetrated the ventilation shafts, and from here they shall no longer be fooled by the deception, the mantra of a castle in the 1500's. Not that they were ever much fooled by us, loathe we are to admit it; they saw ill intents on our part long before they knew what they were, long before they could place a name, an identity or even a plan upon us. _

_It seems a given that they'll now penetrate to the upper levels, and visit our web once more, and if they do this then we shall fight to the death, and delight in our doing so. A physical form of any sort can always be killed, though being here and there, we think perhaps we might outlive our body, a vague hope perhaps, but not one without foundation. More likely, we suppose, the shock wave would send a bolt of death to our very core, and if that happens, we think that the universe might as well hang up it's coat and turn the light off, for a universe without the Intelligence is a dismal universe in which to live - we shall make sure of it. And imagine! Invasions at every turn, death each day, a reality of horror, blood, war and famine, from which there is no let up, not truly, for with every second that passes someone is imperilled..._

_That would make us happy, but fear, we don't believe it could be so, not really, however much we might want it. What if, for each bad we do, there's a figure who does the good to counter it? Just a bloke? A bloke in a box, who's sometimes a woman, and who maybe (just maybe) means more to the universe than he could ever imagine, has lived more lives than he can ever count...some, they'd call him the Doctor. But us, we'd call him the reaper. The demon, the ghast, the bringer of death._

_Oh, come to us, Jack Harkness and Rose Tyler. Come in, don't be shy, and be truly lost, whilst we take the man..._

* * *

_**Jack**_

"Hmm? Oh, good gracious me!" the old man bustled over and lifted Jack from the floor, pressing a hand to his chest and frowning up at him. He was a short man with long white hair, and he wore checked beige trousers and a matching waistcoat.

"I..." he looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Rose crawling through the tunnel and into the empty storage bay alongside him. He saw neither Rose, nor any sign of the worms following him.

"Where is she?" he demanded, taking an instinctive step away from the man.

"Oh, come now!" he snapped. "You mustn't be frightened of me, dear boy. No, indeed! Goodness me no. Now pull yourself together, hmm? Take a few deep breaths."

He examined the old man closely and saw no red frills, no chalk-white features, nothing to indicate anything of the Znya about him. He relaxed somewhat, and realised for the first time that he knew the man.

"Haven't we met?" he demanded.

"Met? Hmm?" the old man glanced him up and down and shook his head, clutching the lapels of his black coat. "Why no, young man. I don't think so."

"Weren't you once a doctor? From back home?"

"A doctor, eh?" the old man chuckled. "No, I'm afraid not. A longstanding fantasy of mine, I confess, but no I'm no such thing. Not yet."

Jack scoffed, and rubbed his eyes, half hoping that the man would be gone when he opened them. "Buddy...you _were_ a doctor. I know ya. I grew up visiting ya, whenever I got sick."

"Never cruel, and never cowardly." the old man replied tersely, taking Jack by the shoulder. "Never give up, and never give in...are these principles you strive to live by, my boy?"

"Always." Jack said at once. "Always...now. Not so much before."

"Oh, why, we're so alike!" the old man beamed, walking from the storage chamber with Jack. They rounded a corner and came, inexplicably, to a short corridor that he recognised all too well, with a stout locked door at the end..

**_Rose_**

She blinked. "How are _you_ here?" she demanded, having just lost sight of Jack and come spilling out of the vent shafts into some form of repair workshop.

The wild-haired man flashed his frightening grin. "Good evening!" he purred in a deep voice. "And goodness, how you've grown!"

"Yeah..." she replied, noting that she saw no red frills on him, and taking limited comfort from that. "When did we last meet?"

"Oh, you've mixed me with somebody else. I'm afraid we've not met before, much to my regret."

"Then why did you say I've grown?"

"I assume you have grown, or were you born that size?"

She scoffed. "You were always weird, doc. Don't get me wrong, I liked you. We all did. Best of the lot, down at the surgery...but still weird."

"Doctor?" he shook his head frantically, his wild brown curls flopping around like creatures in their own right. "No! No doctors here, miss."

Rose could think of no reply, and hung her head. She felt suddenly exhausted. Utterly exhausted. She didn't know where she was, didn't know it to be castle, base, or something else entirely, and had no idea where to go, nor which directions (if any) were at all safe.

"What do I do?" she whispered, blinking back tears. "How can I save him?"

"I...can't answer that." he told her solemnly, rummaging around in his pocket and producing a crumpled bag of sweets. "Would you like a jelly baby?"

In a fit of frustration, insulted to have her woes ignored, she went to slap the bag from his hand, but he grabbed her wrist mid swing.

"But then maybe..." he purred. "Maybe me being here _means_ something. Possibly - just possibly, mind you - there's still a chance? Have you thought of that?"

"Then tell me!" she exclaimed. "Tell me what to do!"

"You know what to do!" he replied. "You've always known, for why else would he have chosen you? You've got to take a stand, and say no. You go to that chamber, girl, and you do what you were born to do, and kill that damned spider whilst your at it! The spider flees before the big bad wolf, for when she looks at you, I mean _really_ looks at you, then she'll flee into the light years, and take him with her. You've got to stop that happening."

And, taking her by the shoulder, he led her out of the workshop and promptly vanished. She found herself standing in the corridor to the Web Tower, and embraced Jack, who was standing ashen-faced beside the door.

"Did you see something?" she whispered. "Something that can't have been?"

"I saw it." he nodded. "Forget it. We're here..."

They gazed at the door with racing hearts, and linked hands.

"She'll try to run," Rose said distantly, her voice a faraway drumbeat in her ears. "When she knows us as we really are, she'll try to run and take the Doctor away with her."

"Then we'll stop her." Jack said simply. "And if we don't..."

"Yeah?"

Jack chuckled. "Then it's been proper good to know you, Rose Tyler!"

They exchanged a final smile, and holding her breath, Rose placed her hand on the latch of the door, and swung it open, stepping into the spider's lair for the final time...


	27. Flashpoint

**_Us_**

_And now they are through, with the help of forces from within and beyond ourselves, and the notion, the sudden realisation, that our efforts were fruitless, that our trickery and control over physics and reality and the thoughts of those around us have failed, leaving a last battle, the final one, one monster against two foes, each armed with blades, and made doubly dangerous through their anger, their adrenaline too, and the sudden horrifying truth that perhaps we overplayed our hand, and that in a world of physical being we truly have no place, for ours is a form which is all too easily destroyed..._

**_Rose_**

The Doctor sat in the middle of the web tower, wrapped in silky entrails, gazing vacantly over Rose's shoulder. She yearned to rush immediately to his aid, but knew the better, for the spider above wanted to draw her out into the open like that, an easy target to be attacked from any angle. No. Rose and Jack stood their ground by the door, swords raised, and a pistol in Jack's free hand. He fired a shot at the monstrosity rushing towards them from down the web, but the bullet had no effect, serving only to draw the slightest of blood.

The spider bore down upon them with salivating jowls and lethal pincers, it's eight eyes red with malice. There was something different here now, something non-threatening and perfect, and with ease Rose slid away from the clumsy beast, nicking one of it's great hairy legs as she avoided it's lunge.

It shrieked and span, attempting to knock her down with it's enormous back sac, but again she danced away, feeling the grip of some far off force for good controlling her movements, a force which seemed impossibly to come from another aspect of the spider, which turned it's attention to Jack, aiming to plant a whopping good bite in his shin. He stabbed it in one of the eyes, sending it reeling away, tripping over it's injured leg.

She felt it's fear, real and honest and miserable, as it scurried over to the Doctor and picked him up between it's pincers.

_"Drop the swords!"_ the spider howled, pus seeming from it's ruined eye socket. _"Drop the swords, and let us be! I shall not kill the Time Lord, he shall through me be emperor of all! The lowly will see him, only him, will know nothing of me, and grovel at his feet from this day 'til his last! Join us, little people! Be part of something greater!"_

"There's the difference between him and you." Rose spat. "He's never wanted to be emperor of anything. He's better than you."

_"He's weak!"_

"Is he? Seems to be you who looks weak now, Znya. Only you."

_"Drop your weapons, or I shall surely kill him!"_

"You won't." Rose said calmly. "Because you _are_ him. A part of him, anyway. Some dank and gruesome offshoot of his mind, given flesh by forces from beyond. And you were never lying, for in a strange way you truly _are_ his daughter. His grief, born out of watching Romana waste away as she did, spawned you. You live off grief, you are grief, you lurk in his thoughts and manifest in times of violence, the one thing of all else that he deplores. He can live without you - he'll be better without you - but you haven't any existence without him."

If spiders could frown, then this one surely did. _"How can you know all this?"_

"Because...I remember it." Rose broke into a grin and witnessed the events from eyes which were not hers, but which now lived in her thoughts as if memories of her own past. Lying in bed, addled with the agony of severe radiation sickness, whilst a curly haired man morosely stood over her, tears dancing in his baby blue eyes, of which the whites had turned red. Red and white, the colours of the spider, the colours of tear-filled eyes, the colours of misery and torpor. A Doctor, not her Doctor, but a Doctor, who fell in love despite himself, and who would have burnt the universe for Romana, just as he would do in a heartbeat for Rose.

"Your dying, Znya. Your attacking yourself! Let it end, for goodness sake, and let him go!"

"We aren't asking." Jack chimed in, taking a step forwards, sword raised.

_"The Toymaker said..._" the spider drifted off, dropping the Doctor, who fell to the webbed floor with a dull clunk.

"The Toymaker ain't here." Jack spat. "It's you and us now, petal, and there ain't room in this tower for all of us."

The spider quivered where it stood, one of it's eight legs bleeding profusely and it's eye socket red raw and gruesome.

_"Maybe I'll kill you both anyway," _she purred. _"For all your fancy words, you cannot think seriously to take me down. And when your gone, so too will any lingering hope still in the mind of my dear father. The war took most of him. Your deaths will take the rest."_

The spider lunged at them again, but they were ready. Linking their hands, they gazed into it's seven eyes and channelled everything into them, all that they were, the days they'd had and, though they couldn't see them, the days yet to come. At this the spider went berserk a screeched to a halt, grabbing the Doctor and scurrying up the web just as had been promised, fleeing physically into the astral plane with the man Rose and Romana loved, from there to never return.

And no chance, not in a million years, was she having_ that._

Stepping away from Jack, and with strength she didn't possess, she lifted the sword by the blade and threw it clear across the room, the blade plunging into the back of the spider, a flood of juices escaping the wound. Znya dropped the Doctor again and fell backwards from the webbed wall, thumping to it's back with a pool of reddish fluid, blood and mucus, forming a puddle around it. It twitched there momentarily before the legs folded tight around the body and it seemed to shrivel and lose size, motionless in death. The physical form of Znya died and so too did whatever counted for the rest of her, the alien thoughts flooding from Rose's mind and memory too, so that she remembered nothing of Romana or any other Doctor, nor even what the spider had been, other than a foe who sought the Doctor's mind for terrible means. The web around them started to shrivel and was no longer sticky underfoot.

Rose and Jack embraced, and Rose burst into tears whilst Jack laughed weakly and dropped his sword.

"Hey! Room for a little one?"

The Doctor stood before them grinning, covered in decaying web and alien saliva, his eyes clear and blue and entirely his own.


	28. Life

**_The Fourth Doctor_**

"Regenerating?" he gaped at Princess Astra as she stood - inexplicably - in the console room. "What are you talking about regenerating, only Time Lords regenerate! Look, it's awfully nice to see you, Princess Astra, but..."

"Romana."

"Romana? Ah!" and though he didn't show it, his hearts did a backflip in loving glee as Romana - his Romana - stood before him, her radiation sickness naught but a memory, regenerated into a body of which she (being a rarity among Time Lords) had the power to alter to her whim, finding a form to find her.

And she looked, he thought, amazing.

_"Ahh!"_

"Shut up, K9!"

* * *

_**Destiny of the Daleks, Part 1**_


	29. The Circle is Complete

**_The Doctor_**

"Ah." he pulled away from Rose and Jack, and grinned. "Happen we should scoot."

The tower was falling down around them, the web disintegrating and the floors crumbling. They linked hands and fled from the room, the door loosely flying from it's hinges as they kicked it open and fled down the stairs, through corridors which made total sense, no trickery, no monster waiting to get them around each corner. Pouring into the dining hall one after the other, the Doctor hurriedly jammed the key into the lock of the Tardis and fell through the threshold, followed closely by the others. Jack shut the door moments before the castle - nay spaceship - gave way altogether, partly crumbling to dust, whilst the core parts vanished into the stratosphere and deeper into the universe.

He watched it go on the scanner, frowning a little. The nuclear engines would be fried right enough, and prone to meltdown at any time. But before that, it would be redeveloped into a space hotel...and when the engines did finally give, why, a young Time Lady would be on hand to save the day, at the cost of her own life.

Or one of her lives, at any rate.

The circle closed, and allowing Rose to cling onto his shoulder, the Doctor permitted himself a smile.

"I'm sorry," he said shortly. "I wasn't meself."

"We know." Jack laughed.

"Yeah, but...I wasn't meself from the moment we arrived in Callows Reach, not from the moment we first set foot in that place. It had me, and I should of felt it. I didn't, coz...well, I..."

"You hoped she was your daughter."

He nodded, his bright blue eyes watery. "I hoped." he admitted. "What was she, after all? I never learnt?"

"I can't remember." Rose said. "I _saw_ it - I know that much. For a brief moment back there, I knew exactly what it was, knew everything about it...but it's gone now."

"And probably for the best," the Doctor said sternly. "Don't go straining to remember Rose, I'll tell ya that much. What the human mind can't comprehend, it _has to_ discard. Has to, for rememberin' would be a death sentence. It'd tear your brain apart."

Rose nodded. "But I saw..." despite the warning, she tried to think back, the images vaguely visible somewhere just below (or beyond) her subconscious. Curly hair...blistered skin, and eyes reddened with tears.

"Rose!" he exclaimed, and she stopped immediately. She never _would_ remember again.

"Onwards?" he shrugged.

Jack laughed. "Is that it, man? We've just spent _months_ living as lords! Let's have a break before you go tearing off anywhere!"

"A break?" he frowned. "Any suggestions?"

Rose shrugged. "Tudor England?"

As one, the trio burst into laughter, and it was a long time before they stopped.

* * *

**_Note: Thanks for reading!_**


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